Magnate
by Halt.CPM
Summary: In an alternate universe where there was never a prophecy, Voldemort runs rampant, his influence spreading across Europe with each passing day. In a bid to spare their child from war, they Potters send their eldest child, Harry Potter, to Durmstrang.
1. Prologue

**AN:**

**1) Alright, hello all! It will be an exploration of the Harry as a Genius theme. This was inspired by "Knowledge is Power" by Fettucini (who sadly never finished his work). Below are some things you should take note of. ****Warning, Spoliers!  
**  
2) When this story begins, Harry will be three years older than canon, putting him at the same age as Viktor Krum. Just go with it. Some of you may be saying something like how this is only possibly unless Lily was pregnant in school or something. If it helps you sleep better at night, just try to imagine that perhaps they are older than canon here?Anyways, I don't care what explanation you come up with, just please don't comment about this issue.

**3) He will have a younger brother. Obviously, the Potters haven't died. And No, there is no Prophecy here.**

**4) There are some scenes/concepts borrowed from The Santi's the Boy Who Lived.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own HP**

**Prologue**

******June 4, 1988…  
**  
Minerva McGonagall sighed deeply as she stood in front of a pair of sturdy, mahogany doors, eyeing it with certain distaste. She had been trying to avoid meeting him for as long as she could, but logically, she supposed it was only a matter of time before official matters brought them together once more. Summoning up what Gryffindor courage she had left in her frail body, she gently pushed the door open and slipped in as inconspicuously as she could. That is, to say, not very well at all.

As soon as she entered, every eye in the room shifted to watch her. Minerva cleared his throat rather loudly, gazing at the assembled conclave coolly. "Highmaster Dvorsky, Headmistress Maxime," she began formally, nodding slightly to each. Her voice hitched when she spoke to the last person in the room though.

"Albus," She greeted curtly, refusing to meet his eyes, "I apologize for my lateness, but I had some business to take care of that could not be postponed." She explained.

Olympe Maxime nodded her head in acceptance. "Eet is nothing. Dumbly-dorr," she gestured to the aged man sitting beside her, "'as not yet even begun." Dvorsky did not express his agreement vocally, but he did grunt at least.

"Well, now that we are all here, perhaps he can explain why he has called a meeting with us?" Minerva asked pointedly, moving to take the farthest seat from Dumbledore.

Her actions did not escape Dumbledore's notice, who frowned visibly at the coldness of his former colleague. "The International Confederation of Wizards believe that, in light of recent developments in the war against Voldemort, an increase in the standard of education is an absolute necessity to effectively combat him…beginning with the three premiere European institutes, namely Durmstrang, Beauxbatons and, of course, Hogwarts."  
His pronouncement was met with varying degrees of hostility.

"And vat," Dvorsky cut in gruffly, his brow furrowed, "exactly does this 'increase in the standard of education' mean?"

Maxime growled in a rather unladylike fashion. "Is ze ICW questioning our abilities to handle ze schools?" She asked sharply.

Minerva, though the least vocal, was, for that same reason, the one Albus concerned himself the most with. People like her were time bombs. The anger, the hatred…it was there, but hidden masterfully behind a façade. You could ignore their feelings easily enough at first, but without defusing the situation, they were bound to blow up in your face.

And when it did, you were pretty much screwed.

Albus raised his hands to stave off their accusations. "Friends, please, clam down!" He pleaded, looking each into the eye. His right hand moved mechanically to withdraw a set of parchments from his robes and set them on the table. "Take a look at these parchments."

Dvorsky grabbed the parchments hastily, scowling at the Supreme Mugwump. He brusquely offered a parchment to both Minerva and Maxime without so much as a glance in their direction.

Minerva graciously accepted the parchment, ignoring the Polish purebloods terrible manners, and read through it thoroughly. She had heard rumors about something like this being discussed, but had thought nothing of it at the time.

Once she had finished reading, she tilted her head to get a better view at her colleagues' reactions. Maxime had a thoughtful look while Dvorsky….well, he just seemed like he wanted to punch Dumbledore, clenched fist and all.

"Vat," Dvorsky spat out, "is this garbage! Demanding that ve accept muggleborns and half-bloods into our Institute? I agree vith you that half-bloods should be allowed in," he conceded, "but the only way for muggleborns to haff a chance in hell of making it in Durmstrang vould be to make my school's preliminary test easier. That seems like a double standard to me."

"And what of zese 'physical education' classes zat you want? And ze mandatory muggle studies class?" Maxime voiced her own concerns, a tinge of worry mixed with her words.

"The amount of classes that you want us to implement is staggering." Minerva said icily. "While it might be simple for Durmstrang and Beauxbatons to comply, the same is not for Hogwarts. One, they have much more funding." She raised a finger, beginning to count her points. "Two, they already offer most of these subjects unlike Hogwarts. Again, this is due to lack of funding. Three, some of these things are illegal. And four, there is a sudden lack of qualified individuals to teach in Britain."

Dumbledore offered them an apologetic smile. "I will answer your questions to the best of my abilities. The Ministry of Britain has decided to grant another half a million galleons to the Hogwarts budget for all of the staff that need to be hired. The Minister has also agreed to temporarily suspend the dark arts ban. The mastery classes have been implemented due to the lack of safety in this world nowadays. Simply put, people don't have anywhere to go to within Europe if they want to take up an apprenticeship in, say, Warding." He said pointedly.

"The physical education classes are meant to keep students in top physical condition to give them a chance in this war. The muggle studies and admittance of muggleborns, I suppose, are an attempt to change the views of some pureblood extremists."

"How long do we have to put this in effect?" Minerva asked.

"As soon as possible." Dumbledore answered grimly.

Minerva shook her head. "Then I won't be able to take in any first years. I don't have enough staff members even if I went on a hiring spree to both implement this and take on the workload of teaching new students."

Dumbledore frowned. "Surely you exaggerate, Minerva, I-"

She banged the table with her fist, shutting him up. "I lost three staff members already; one dead, the other two leaving for fear of their lives! Added to the fact that I wasn't even fully staffed last year and you'll see that I am not exaggerating." She hissed. "I have professors juggling two to three subjects already. So unless you want me to bring in potentially dangerous wizards and compromise Hogwarts' security or kill my professors from over exhaustion, I cannot accept first years!"

Albus wisely decided not to press the issue. "Will Beauxbatons face similar problems?" He asked, turning to the French half-giant.

"I suppose zat eet is possible to implement before school starts. Some of my staff will not be happy about all zese extra work though. I will have to pay them overtime."

Dumbledore nodded. "Fear not, you will be compensated accordingly by the ICW. Dvorsky, any concerns?"

The man sneered. "I stand by vhat I said before. Besides, it does not matter vhat the ICW vish. We are under the joint jurisdiction of the Russian and German Ministry! You should know, Albus, you vere one of the signatories after you defeated Grindelvald." He pointed out, appearing very smug as he did.

"I am aware of that. I am also aware that those two governments never agree on anything, leaving the decision making to your Board, am I correct?"

"That is right."

"Then I shall speak to your Board. I am sure they will see reason." Dumbledore assured him.

Dvorsky raised a brow at him. "Ve shall see about that." He nodded to the other occupants of the room before walking out.

"I'm afraid I must take my leave as well, Dumbly-dorr. I have preparations to make." Maxime said.

That left Dumbledore and Minerva together and alone. Clearing his throat, Dumbledore broke the awkward silence that had settled in the room. "How have you been all these years, Minerva?" He asked politely.

"I've been fine." She snapped.

"Minerva, I know that you're upset-"

"Damn it, Albus! Of course I'm upset!" She shouted, standing up. "How did you think I would feel? You just packed up and left one day without so much as a by your leave." She began pacing back and forth. "You abandoned Hogwarts and the children. You left the staff without any instructions or a suitable replacement. No, you just woke up one day and jumped at the chance for glory!"

"The world needed me once more. Had I not intervened, we would have lost!" He protested.

"You had a responsibility to that school, to those children! You wanted to be back in the spotlight, not rotting away in a school." She stopped pacing to look at him. "This wasn't about a war. This was about you. It always has been, hasn't it?"

"We were losing the fight against Voldemort." He said solemnly. "The situation had turned dire. I regret leaving Hogwarts, but it was for the Greater Good! Voldemort had to be stopped."

She gave him a scathing look. "And where are you with that now, by the way? As far as I remember, we're still losing. Since you became involved, he has managed to gain a following in Italy, Germany, Spain and Portugal. Let's not even forget about the pseudo dark lord that's backing him in France! He is stronger than he ever was."

"I managed to kill him once, didn't I?"

"Yes, and a lot of good that did. Not even a week had passed and he was up sending curses left and right. He's even managed to grow stronger with whatever dark ritual he used to raise himself from the dead."

"That was hardly my fault." Dumbledore protested. "How was I supposed to foresee his actions? How was I supposed to know he had lapsed into such madness as to delve into arts no mortal should ever touch?"

"There's not a man in this world that understands him more than you do. So if you can't find a way to stop him, we don't have even a slimmer of a chance." Her shoulders slumped at the disheartening thought.

"Minerva, it might seem that-"

"I have no more time to hear your false promises. Good day, Supreme Mugwump." She nodded curtly before storming out.

* * *

**June 10, 1988…**

"Can you believe this?" James Potter threw the copy of the Daily Prophet he was reading onto the table. "They're saying that Hogwarts isn't going to be able to accept new students this year!"

Sirius Black made a grab for it instantly, but before he could begin reading, he was met with the business end of Lily's wand. "Hand it over, Sirius." She growled. "And maybe I won't hex your bits off for letting Harry and Robert play with an actual Bludger."  
Whimpering, the wizard complied. Lily Potter was not one you wanted to cross, after all.

Sirius, still sulking, watched as she read through the newspaper with envy. Lily's eyes widened as she skimmed through the article. "I don't believe this." She muttered, lowering the paper. "I'll Floo McGonagall to check. You know how the Prophet likes to make things up these days."

Once the redhead was out of earshot, Sirius whispered to his best friend. "She's never going to forget about that is she?"

"That was pretty stupid of you mate." James chastised. "They could have gotten seriously hurt."

"They begged me to! I took every standard precaution. Safety pads, slowing charms, the works! Besides, I was watching them the whole time." He said, crossing his arms.

"Yeah, and that would have made it fine by me, but you know how overprotective she can be. You should have asked her first."

Sirius pouted, but did not reply.

"James!" They heard Lily call out. "McGonagall just confirmed the rumors!" She said, walking into the room.

"At least you can still send him to Beauxbatons or one of the local schools." Sirius said."And there's always home schooling to consider."

"Let's not forget Durmstrang." Lily added. It gained her suspicious looks from the other two. "What? They sent an acceptance letter, didn't they?"

"Durmstrang doesn't have a history of accepting non-purebloods." Sirius explained. "This new policy to accept halfbloods is really controversial in some circles."

"Maybe they're just becoming more progressive?"

He shook his head. "I heard from some chaps in the Ministry that Dumbledore had to get personally involved before they would even consider It."

"I say you send him to Beauxbatons." Sirius said. "I mean do French chicks ring a bell?"

For the second time that morning, he, all too suddenly, found himself facing a wand's point. "Care to repeat that?" Lily asked, a deceptively sweet smile plastered onto her face. He shook his head fervently as sweat began to break out on his forehead. "That's what I thought."

"Home schooling is of the question." James mused loudly. "We've kept our children protected for far too long. They need to interact more with kids their age."

"Yeah, all they do here is read books, fly and read more books. Then again, that's all there is to do here." Sirius said.

"Local schools are substandard, aside from Hogwarts. That leaves us with Beauxbatons or Durmstrang." Lily concluded.

"Durmstrang's notoriously dark." Sirius' voice rose in amplitude. "Sending him there might be dangerous."

"I agree. He should go to Beauxbatons." Lily said. Sirius pumped his fist into the air triumphantly.

"I'd rather he go to Durmstrang." James said.

"What?" His wife and best friend turned their heads sharply.

"Beauxbatons is a fine school, but Durmstrang's specialty is Dueling. Try to protect him as we might, Harry's going to grow up one day. And when he does, he's going to get involved in the war whether we like it or not." Lily turned ashen.

"Don't they teach in Russian there though? How is Harry going to learn that in time to attend?" She asked.

"Perhaps there's a charm or potion to help?" James said, running his hand through his hair nervously.

Lil's face scrunched up. "I'll have to check before I can be sure. I vaguely remember Nicholas Flamel's experiments with this sort of thing. It requires a Ritual Circle, if I'm not mistaken."

James nodded. "In that case, I'll go tell Harry."

With determination, James wandered the halls of his ancestral home with a thoughtful expression etched onto his face. Although, he hadn't shown it, he himself wondered if sending Harry to Durmstrang was the right choice. Sure his argument made sense, but that wasn't the only reason. It was something...instinctually deeper than logic that compelled him.

For as far as he could remember, Potters had always gone to Hogwarts for their education. He had gone there, his father had gone there, and his father before him.

So what had caused this sudden change?

Could it have been the danger? James was doubtful. His great-grandparents had lived through Grindelwald's time, and without hesitation sent their child, James's grandfather, to Hogwarts still. One could argue perhaps that Voldemort had become far more dangerous, but fear was hardly the reason. James was a Gryffindor after all, and it certainly wasn't because he was afraid of Voldemort.

Perhaps a need to keep his children safe? But that too wasn't completely it. Even though he had used that to convince his wife, he didn't feel entirely convicted by the notion. Durmstrang had gained its harsh reputation because of the tolerated student violence there, keeping in line with their sink or swim policy. It was barbaric...but horribly effective. It certainly wasn't the safest place to learn magic, but those that did learn became the best, which was why it appealed to many.

In the end, James chalked it up to his gut feeling. He could somehow feel, for some inexplicable reason, that sending Harry there was the best choice for his family. And if James had learned anything in life, it was to always trust your gut.

So it was with renewed conviction that James walked into the Library where both of his children were reading a muggle book entitled The Final Problem. If one didn't know any better, one would mistake them for twins. Both had inherited James's looks and raven hair. The differences, though slight, were distinct, however. Whereas Harry had his mother's eerily green eyes, Robert had the brightest blue eyes James had ever seen.

Their differences in appearance ended there. Their differences in personality contrasted in more ways than one though. Most of his childhood had seen him restricted from being outside without supervision due to the war. There was a time, though, when he was free to do as he pleased. The sudden limitation gave him a keen passion of having nothing to do. To that extent, he alternated his time between playing Quidditch and reading History books.

Robert was his opposite in that sense. He was content with his situation, never outwardly moving to exert himself for the sake of having something to do. More often than not, he would simply tag along with his brother and let him think of what to do.

"Harry, Robert, we need to talk."

The two boys directed their eyes at him in curiosity. "What is it, dad?" Harry asked.

James sighed. They wouldn't take this news very well. "Harry, you're mother and I have decided that...that it would be best if you began attending Durmstrang once term starts."

Harry tensed visibly. "What about Robert?"

"I'm afraid he's too young to go to Durmstrang." James said, shaking his head.

"Why can't he remain home schooled with me until I'm old enough then?" Robert cried out, obviously distraught.

James frowned. "You're brother has to go to school, unless he says he doesn't want to."

Harry shot a sorry glance at Robert, before replying. "I'll go."

Robert looked crestfallen.

"Robert, I'm afraid this isn't up to you. Harry is going to Durmstrang this year." James said, putting some steel into his voice.

"No, you can't take my brother away!" Robert cried out.

James sighed. "Robert-"

"You can't let him go!" Robert yelled.

"Robert, please-"

"No!" Robert shouted, running out of the room.

"Robert!" James shouted after him, moving to follow.

"Don't worry dad, I'll talk to him." Harry said.

"Thank you, Harry." Once his eldest was out of earshot, James mumbled to himself. "Well, that could have gone a lot better."

* * *

"Robb." Robert did not reply.

Harry tentatively reached out to his brother. "Come on, Robert, it won't be so bad."

Robert sniffed. "It won't be the same without you."

"And I'll miss you too." Harry replied. "But this is what we've been waiting for all this time, isn't it? Going to school, learning actual magic instead of theory."

"I didn't think you'd leave me behind."

"Well, I have to go." Harry said, poking him. "Because if I don't, who's wand are you going to borrow to  
practice over the summer?"

Robert smiled. "I can't use your wand during the summer, you dolt. The Ministry tracks underage use of magic." Robert said. "We'll just have to nick Uncle Remmy's wand." He grinned mischievously. "And, once you learn real magic, we can finally get Uncle Siri back for his pranks!" Robert jumped up and down in excitement.

Harry took a more solemn mood. "I don't want to leave you behind." Harry said sadly. "But I promise I'll write to you every day."

Robert's forehead creased. "I'm pretty sure your owl will drop dead form exhaustion if you do that."

"Fine, maybe once a week then." Harry amended. "It won't be so bad. Before you know it, the term will be over and I'll be back here with you again."

"And you better be here for Christmas."


	2. Welcome to Durmstrang

**Chapter 1: Welcome to Durmstrang**

Harry suddenly remembered why he didn't like using portkeys. It was perhaps _the most_ _barbaric _method of transportation wizardkind had _ever_invented. It was sudden, highly nauseating, and quite possibly traumatic to the unaccustomed.

It was, in hindsight, a good thing that Harry had not eaten breakfast yet, for he would have hurled by now had he did. His right hand held his acceptance letter, which was also a portkey, in a vice-like grip that crushed it, while his left held on to his trunk as if for dear life. After what seemed like an eternity of high velocity spinning, Harry felt the stinging touch of snow caress his face.

He had never been so glad to be back on the ground in his life, which was odd, since he had always enjoyed flying. Then again, using a portkey couldn't exactly be classified as flying.

Groaning, Harry reluctantly pushed himself up before his face could get frostbite. Shuddering involuntarily from the cold, he shook the snow off his robes.

"First time?"

Startled, Harry looked up to see a kid of his age wrapped neatly in a fur winter cloak and cap with a black and white motif. "Using the portkey, I mean." The boy amended, his accent distinctly Slavic.

"Yeah, first time." Harry replied.

The boy nodded. "I hate using portkeys as vell."

Suddenly, Harry shivered, the piercing cold finally getting to him.

The boy remarked on this with a tinge of amusement in his voice. "You seem cold. Did you not bring a vinter coat?"

"I did." Harry said, grabbing his coat from his trunk hastily and putting it on. "I didn't think it would be so cold here."

"Ve are at the very tip of Norway. How cold did you think it vould be?" He asked sarcastically. "My name is Viktor Krum, by the vay, vhat is yours, Englishman?"

Harry blinked owlishly, taking a few seconds to process what was going on. "My name's Harry, Harry Potter." Viktor smiled at him, and extended his hand. Harry stared at it stupidly for a while before shaking it. "Do you know how to get to Durmstrang? You are going to Durmstrang as well, aren't you?" Harry inquired curiously, taking in his surroundings for the first time. Towering pine trees dominated the landscape and prevented anyone from seeing very far. _So, we are in a forest. _Harry thought.

"Yes, I am going to Durmstrang as vell. And no, I do not know how to reach the castle. I do know it is somevhere in the north," Viktor added hastily, "if ve can figure out vere the north is, of course." He glanced nervously at the pine trees surrounding them, obviously intimidated.

Harry glanced at the sun momentarily before answering. "North is this way." Harry pointed the direction with his left hand, and grabbed his trunk with his right. "We should get a move on." He said, trudging in the snow with noticeable effort.

"Agreed." Viktor mimicked his actions, and moved to catch up with his companion. "How do you know that this is the vay north?"

Harry replied without even looking at Viktor. "The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Since it isn't midday yet, the angle the sun is at currently should be east. Knowing that, one can easily determine all other directions."

A frown graced Viktor's face. "Vere did you learn this? My tutors had not taught me this."

"The muggles were the ones to discover this. That's probably why you don't know."

"Oh," Viktor paused, "vhy vould you have a muggle for a tutor?"

"He was a half-blood actually, but my parents wanted me to have a well-rounded foundation, which for them included some muggle basics." Harry explained. "Where are you from anyway? And how come you know how to speak English?"

"I am from Bulgaria. My father was a graduate of Durmstrang, and all my life, he has been preparing me to attend. I vas taught Russian, English and French by my tutor to prepare me."

Harry frowned. "I thought the medium of instruction would be Russian only? Why would you need to learn English and French?"

"To make it easier to make contacts of course." Seeing Harry's confused look, he elaborated. "Going to Durmstrang is not only about getting a magical education it is also about meeting people who can help you in the future."

"Is that why they don't allow muggleborns into Durmstrang, because they won't necessarily be important or influential in the future?"

"That is partly it. But mostly because muggleborns vould not be able to keep up vith the system."

"What system? I'm afraid I might seem a bit ignorant, but I'm the first of my family to attend Durmstrang in ages, and there wasn't a lot the books told me." Harry apologized, slightly abashed at his lack of information.

"It is fine. Most Durmstrang first years should have at least a background in the basics of magic. That is already expected of us when we begin. Muggleborns vould haff a difficult time in Durmstrang, and most vould be forced to drop out by their first year. It is very unforgiving in Durmstrang, so my father tells me. Most muggleborns who have been accepted before haff complained about the high standards, but Durmstrang vill not lower them to cater to those who are unprepared. To be in Durmstrang is fight to be the best."

Harry nodded slowly. "That makes sense, I suppose. I used to think it was because Durmstrang was a blood purist school." Harry confessed.

"I cannot blame you for thinking so. Durmstrang has received a terrible reputation after Grindelvald and their refusal to accept muggleborns does not help either, but ve do not haff to be blood purists to attend."

"There's a clearing up ahead!" Harry suddenly exclaimed, rushing forward.

"Finally, I thought the forest vould never end." Viktor sighed happily, following after his friend. "Ve are here at last."

The sight that met them was rather disappointing. A rickety wooden bridge extended into the sea that seemed to lead to nothing. "I thought that there would be a bit…more." Harry said, clearly disappointed.

Viktor barked in laughter. "This is not Durmstrang. This is just how ve vill get there. Follow me." The Bulgarian motioned for him to follow. Together, they moved to the edge of the bridge, where a couple of other students were milling around.

"What are we waiting for?"

Viktor grinned. "A ship" was his curt reply.

"A ship?" Harry repeated incredulously. "Are you telling me Durmstrang is on an island?"

"Of course," Viktor answered confidently, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "That is how it has remained hidden from muggles."

"It must be a pretty big island to be able to have a mountain, a lake, a forest, and a castle." Harry noted.

"It is." Viktor confirmed. "So, do you play Quidditch?" He asked politely.

"Yeah, I'm a chaser. What position do you play?"

"I am a seeker!" Viktor said proudly. "It is my dream to represent my country von day." As Viktor spoke, Harry noticed a familiar maniacal gleam in his eye that Harry had often seen his father possess.

It was the look of a fanatic.

"So are you going to try out for the House Team?"

Viktor's face scrunched up in confusion. "Vat is a House Team?"

"In Hogwarts, they sort students into four houses and each house has a Quidditch team that fights for the Championship." Harry explained. "I assumed it was the same here."

"I haff never heard any stories of such a thing from my father."

"Oh," Harry ran his hand through his hair nervously, "maybe it's a Hogwarts thing." He muttered.

They settled into an awkward silence and watched as more students trickled in from the forest. "So, umm, what does your father do?" Harry asked, trying to start up a conversation again.

"He is a vattle mage."

"A battle mage?"

Viktor nodded vigorously. "Yes, a vattle mage. He catches dark vizards and maintains he law in Bulgaria."

"Oh, is that what you call aurors in Bulgaria?"

"No, ve also haff aurors. A vattle mage is different. An auror's standards differ between countries, but a vattle mage's skill is recognized internationally."

"Wicked!" Harry grinned.

"Vicked?"

"It's English slang. It means it's awesome."

Viktor nodded in understanding. "Vat about you? Vat do your parents do?"

"Well, my dad's an Auror Lieutenant and my mum's a Charms Expert."

"Being an expert is a profession in your country? I thought it vas only a title granted to a person who has gained a mastery?"

"It is, but I'm not exactly sure what she does. What does your mother do?"

Viktor's grin melted away. "She passed avay vhen I vas four."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Harry said in the best sympathetic voice he could muster.

"It is alright. I haff gotten used to it by now."

For the second time that day, the pair remained in solemn silence. By now, the gangplank was beginning to become crowded as hundreds of students pushed and shoved to gain a spot.

Suddenly, the ground tremored slightly. "Vat vas that?" Viktor asked worriedly. Before Harry could reply with "I have no bloody idea. _You're_ the expert here", a whirlpool appeared beside the gangplank, sucking in water into the vortex. A wooden tip suddenly rose up from the center, bobbing up and down with the water.

"Where did that piece of wood come from?" Harry asked, pointing to it.

Viktor's eyes widened when he spotted what Harry was talking about. "That is not just a piece of vood. That is the tip of a mast!" He exclaimed. Harry became bug-eyed when he heard his friend's explanation.

Awed, the students watched as the piece of wood rose higher, revealing more of the mast. Every time the ship bobbed up, more of it was revealed. Slowly, the spectacle unfolded before them, until a vessel that looked awfully similar to a Viking raiding ship floated where the vortex once was. An imposing figure dressed in red robes and brown slacks stood on the deck of the ship, eyeing them with displeasure. Behind the man were several similarly dressed upperclassmen standing at attention. There was a certain militaristic feel to them. At last, the man spoke, his voice rather gruff. What was said Harry could only guess as he only understood very little Russian so far. With practiced ease, the upperclassmen lowered a bridge onto the gangplank and urged the students to get on board quickly. The students complied hastily, less they might incur the wrath of the stern looking captain. It took a few minutes to get everyone onboard, but they managed.

In the middle of the rush to board the ship, Harry found the time to cast a translation charm on himself. Unfortunately, he was not able to test the charm's efficacy as the imposing man addressed them in English, surprisingly. "Sons and Daughters of Durmstrang, I welcome you." The man said, although his glare didn't seem very welcoming. "I am Master Kurkov, instructor of Dueling. Before we depart, all of you must swear a simple vow. The language does not matter, as long as you comply. Take out your wands!" He barked. The frightened group of eleven year olds complied immediately.

"Repeat after me. Upon my life and blood, upon my magic and honor, I swear to be loyal to Durmstrang. Let the island upon which he rests on be clouded from his enemies' sight." A blue glow surrounded the students as they spoke the vow. Watching impassively, Kurkov nodded curtly when the last student finished.

"Helmsman, bring us back to the island." Though his command was not yelled, it was heard throughout the ship, and the upperclassmen began moving about the ship to their designated tasks, two of which seemed to be handing out a piece of parchment to each of the students. Below him, Harry felt the ship shudder before it moved. Kurkov waited for the students to receive the parchment before speaking again. "Again, I welcome you all to Durmstrang. Being here is an honor and a privilege, _not _a right." His eyes shifted from left to right to include all the students. "The sooner you understand this, the better. We will not _baby,_" He spat out the word as if it tasted foul, "anyone here. Here, you will be tried and tested, pushed to your limits. If you cannot handle the workload, I suggest you leave and transfer to Hogwarts or Beauxbatons. We will not lower our standards for _any_ of you. Either you succeed, or die trying. Above all, you must remember the Durmstrang motto, 'Survival to the fittest.' Our methods may seem harsh, brutal even. But rest assured, it is necessary. No amount of begging to your parents will change us. Here, you will pass or fail based on your own merits." He warned venomously.

"In the parchment given to you is the classes you can take. Hover your wand over it, and a short description will appear with everything you need to know. If some of you may have noticed, there are several different levels. To be eligible for a higher based class, you must complete all the prerequisites, the first of which would be the proficiency tests. These tests will be implemented during your first three months to determine which course you no longer require. Now, the grading system in Durmstrang is different from most of Western Europe. The highest score you may receive is an 'P', standing for Prodigious. It is awarded to the highest ranking person in a class. The next is a 'T' for Talented, this is a high passing score, awarded to the next four highest ranking students. Any student who receives this score, or higher, is exempt from homework in class, and may be excused without prior notice. An 'A' stands for Adept, and is the lowest of the acceptable scores. 'I' stands for Inept. If you receive one of these, you must retake the class. Receive this score three times in a class and you may consider yourself on probation. Anytime the instructor deems you as unworthy, he or she may ban you from ever attending. A 'M' is for Moronic. You are automatically kicked out of a class with this score, and must petition to the subject teacher to be allowed to join again. A 'H' is the worst score you can receive. It stands for Hopeless. With this score, you are kicked out of the subject, without chance to reenroll in it. Furthermore, you are barred from borrowing any books from the library to study the subject. Any questions?" He pointed to one of the students who raised his hand.

The student spoke in a series of rapid French. Kurkov nodded to the boy and answered. "You may not borrow books with an 'H' because it would mean that another more competent student would not be able to utilize the resource. Why let students who are hopeless in a subject drain valuable resources?" he asked rhetorically. "Now, the year is divided into three terms. The first term is from September to November, the second is from January to March, and the last is from April to June. You must take a finals exam at the end of each term to determine if you are a waste of time to teach. December is your Christmas break, and July to August is your summer break. When we reach the island, all of you will be assigned blocks, around forty students to each block. You will attend classes with your respective blocks. Do not get too attached to your block though. Some of you will be able to advance more quickly than others. If you prove to excel in a class, you may be accelerated. But if you consistently flunk, you will be forced to return to a lower level class. Any...misbehavior in class will be dealt with severely." Kurkov's eyes flashed dangerously as he spoke the last sentence. "Now, I suggest you study your parchments. It will also have the rules there and anything else I have not mentioned."

Harry glanced down at his parchment. The subjects seemed to be illustrated like a tree, with each subject linked to several others that were, in turn, linked to several others. They were ranked into five levels. The first one, entitled "Preliminary", seemed the simplest, containing only three subjects and having to be taken for one term only. There was the "Linguistic Proficiency Class", "Theoretic Proficiency Class", and "Practical Proficiency Class". The next tier called, "Basics", had expanded into ten subjects, one of which had a further six subsets, and was approximated to take three years and two terms to finish. There was Basic Charms, Basic Transfiguration, Basic Herbology, Basic Creature Studies, Basic History, Basic Dueling, Basic Astronomy, Physical Studies, Muggle Studies I, and a Linguistic Class where you could learn French, English, German, Latin, Spanish or Arabic.

The third level with the title "Intermediate" would take two years, or six terms to finish. It included classes on Intermediate Charms, Intermediate Theory, Intermediate Transfiguration, Intermediate Herbology, Creature Studies II, Intermediate History, Intermediate Dueling, Intermediate Astronomy, Muggle Studies II, Linguistic Class II, Basic Potions, Basic Runic Theory and Basic Arithmancy. Physical Studies became split between Hiking, Swimming and Flying. Curiously, Harry waved his wand over Basic Potions, wondering why it was in the Intermediate level. Several writings appeared on the parchment. It read:

Basic Potions by Master Natalya Stukov  
Prerequisites: Basic Herbology, Basic Creature Studies  
Prerequisite for: Advanced Potions

Harry glanced at Viktor's paper, which seemed to be gibberish. "What language is that in, Viktor?"

"Bulgarian." He answered. "I think the papers, and Master Kurkov's introduction, vere charmed to be seen or heard in your native tongue."

Well, that made more sense than it being strictly in Russian. Harry raised his hand, waiting for Kurkov to call him. It took a few minutes for the man to single him out. "You, Englishman, what is it?" He asked gruffly.

"Sir, why is Basic Potions in the Intermediate level?"

"Because, often times, you will be required to gather and identify your own materials. Without going through Basic Herbology or Creature Studies, you wouldn't be able to do that now would you? Idiot Englishman."

"What about the term lengths, sir? It says here it takes the better part of four years to finish Basic education, but only two years to finish Intermediate studies. Why such a discrepancy?"

"_Because_," the man spat out, "as you increase in level, those who are less skilled are weeded out, leaving only those who have any talent to continue. Without idiots such as you dragging the class down, the lessons will move much faster."

Nodding meekly, Harry whispered to Viktor. "I don't think Kurkov likes me."

Viktor snorted, as he watched said instructor chew out another student's question. "I don't think Kurkov likes anybody."

Harry continued to read through his parchment. The fourth level was called "Advanced" and took another two years to finish. Harry's eyes went wide when he saw the list. Whereas some subjects used to be one class, some had branched out into four. Charms had become Oaths, Animation, Enchantment, Spell Creation and Combat Application. Transfiguration became Human Transfiguration, Conjuration, Transmutation and Battle Transfiguration. Dueling was split between Casting Techniques, Advanced Spellcraft, Elemental Spells, Combat Tactics and Mind Magic. Physical Studies required you, in addition to your previous exercise, to take up either Fencing, Unarmed Combat or Survival Studies, which was in blood red ink. Some subjects remained singular however, such as Potions, Arithmancy, Runes and Herbology. History had its name changed into World History and History of Warfare, while Creature Studies became Creature Taming.

The last level was called a "Mastery". Beside it was a note that said a Durmstrang student was considered officially as being eligible to graduate the moment they received their first mastery, which was another year of grueling dedication. There were several masteries offered, such as Warding, Healing, Alchemy, Battle Magic, Rituals, Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, Creature Studies, Linguistic Studies, Technomancy - which was the most surprising on the list - and Necromancy. Curiously, Harry waved his hand over Necromancy, and was disappointed to find out it was more about Soul Magic than raising the dead. The prerequisites for it were staggering though. You needed to pass Oaths, Enchantment, Advanced Magic, Mind Magic, Runes and Arithmancy.

That was nothing compared to Battle Magic and Alchemy though. Battle Magic required one to pass five of the eight of the combined Advanced Dueling and Combat Classes, at least one class of Transfiguration and Charms, Creature Taming, History of Warfare, Potions, Herbology, and two Linguistic Classes. Alchemy needed all the classes in Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Arithmancy and Runes. Technomancy was a little easier, needing proficiency in all the Charms class and Muggle Studies class.

Having read enough about what Durmstrang could offer, Harry looked at the rules section, and was flabbergasted by what he saw.

First was "Survive." The second was "Obey your instructors."

"That can't be it." Harry muttered, looking closely to see if there was any fine script. "Are they serious? That means we're allowed to fight in the hallways."

Viktor overheard him. "They do, actually. It is part of the training experience. You must survive by learning to fight, or using social pull. They call it the 'unofficial' politics and business class of Durmstrang." Viktor said dryly.

"What about Quidditch? I didn't see anything about that."

"I think they form Quidditch teams by blocks. What Mastery do you vish to take up?"

Harry bit his lip, and looked over the list again. "Alchemy seems interesting. What about you?"

"I vant to be a Battle Mage like my father."

The ship groaned and shuddered suddenly. Looking over the rails of the ship for the first time, Harry gasped. They had arrived.

Durmstrang Island was a beautiful sight to behold. The castle was some distance from the coast, but its size easily made it visible. Harry estimated it covered several hectares. The island itself must have been close to thirty square kilometers. The fact that they had managed to hide the island's existence from the muggle world all this time was amazing! To the east of the Castle was a vast forest, while a lake was to the immediate west of the castle. Further west was more forest. To the north was hilly terrain, with a mountain at the northern most extremity. The south, however, was a vast plain, and near the coast was a wizarding village of some size.

"Come on, Harry. Kurkov might kill us if ve do not go now." Viktor said, shoving his friend forward.

Harry glared at his friend for pushing him, but complied nonetheless, walking forward to follow the descending students. The time it took to evacuate the ship was significantly faster than the time to board it, Harry noted idly. Once all the students were on ground, Kurkov's sharp voice pierced the air. "There are one hundred and sixty of you this year. Divide yourselves into four groups." The students stared at him dumbly. "Now!" He barked.

Scrambling furiously, the frightened first years managed, with some difficulty, to form four groups of forty. Thankfully, Harry managed to stick together with Krum. "Meet your new block mates." He said, raising his wand into the air, and softly muttered an inaudible incantation. Harry felt something on his chest, and tilted his head to look. Below the insignia of Durmstrang on his clothes was now a number. Harry's was 19880321. "The first four numerals," Kurkov started, "is your batch number. 1988, because you joined our ranks on this year, if your pathetic minds cannot comprehend it yet. The next two are your block numbers, and the last two is your number within the block. Now, it is almost time for lunch. If you whelps hurry, you might reach the castle in time for dinner." He said, offering them a mocking grin. With a flash, Kurkov and the upperclassmen disappeared, leaving the first years to fend for themselves.

"Are they serious? The castle is at least five kilometers from here." Harry seethed. "They expect us to walk with our trunks in the snow all the way to the school?"

"I suppose so." Krum said calmly, opening his trunk. Harry sighed, and observed his block mates. Some had indeed begun trekking towards the castle. Others seemed to be in a state of denial, sitting in the snow stupidly. Still others were now talking to the villagers, perhaps asking if they had a method of transportation to get to the school. "Do you haff a broom?" Krum asked.

"Yeah. You want to fly to the school?"

Viktor shrugged. "It beats valking."

Harry opened up his own trunk and looked for his broom. For the umpteenth time, Harry silently thanked his mum for packing his things so neatly. It didn't take very long for him to get his own broom. "Now all ve haff to vorry about is our trunks." Viktor muttered. "Do you think ve could get somevon to cast a shrinking charm?"

"And how exactly would we unshrink them at school? I doubt the Masters or the upperclassmen would be willing to help us." Harry retorted.

"Vhat is your idea then?"

"We could try using a Levitation Charm."

"Very vell." The duo mounted their brooms and rose up a few feet into the air.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_" Harry said in a clear voice. He frowned when nothing happened. Looking at Krum, the Bulgarian had already managed to get his trunk floating, and was giving him an expectant look. A little annoyed, Harry swished and flicked his wand again, saying the incantation clearly. Again, nothing happened. Softly closing his eyes, he tried to recall what he had learned about magic.

_Incantations and Motions will only get you so far in a spell. The key to magic is intent. You have to want something to happen._He remembered Remus saying.

Inhaling deeply, Harry opened his eyes and pointed his wand at the trunk. "_Wingardium Leviosa._" He muttered, trying to picture the trunk floating in his mind. A surge of heat rushed through his right arm, tingling his nerves. The trunk gently floated into the air.

"Come on, Potter, ve haven't got all day." Viktor said, interrupting Harry's moment of triumph.

The two slowly increased in altitude, bringing their trunks with them. With the trunks slowing them down, they couldn't move very quickly, but they made better time than those who chose to walk.

From an aerial perspective, the castle, or more specifically, the concentric castle was rather intimidating, with the outermost walls covering approximately thirty hectares of land. The castle was made up of black bricks from the ground up, giving it a very Gothic appearance. The entire complex was very stiff.

Before and after the outer wall was what seemed to be a moat that had been expanded and converted into an outdoor swimming pool. It drew its water source from the nearby lake. Harry supposed they must have kept the entire thing under a constant heating charm to keep it from freezing over. Past that was another wall which was joined with the castle proper. There was also a central tower that was easily double the height of the other towers. It dominated the landscape and made for an excellent command post in the event of a siege. The castle was perhaps four stories high, not counting the central tower.

It was close to midday when they finally managed to land at the castle's front gate. A few students, miraculously enough, had managed to arrive before them. Before entering, Harry recast the translation charm over himself so he would understand if someone was speaking to him in Russian. Fortunately, the charm also gave him a crude idea of how to speak the language. Unfortunately, it was a very crude idea, and it would take time before he could speak the language passably, even with the charm. There was another man who stood near the gateway. He was lean and tall, and wore a scowl on his face, although he was a lot less frightening than Kurkov.

"Hello, I am Master Rosembach." The man said in Russian. "Do you...Russian?"

Viktor responded quickly and confidently. "Yes, sir."

It took Harry a moment later to figure out what Rosembach was asking. "Yes, sir." Harry replied, deciding to keep his sentences as short as possible to avoid embarrassing himself.

Master Rosembach nodded brusquely. "Good, you have come...Your...are on the...formal…robes…hall…"

Harry stared at the German blankly, unable to understand what he had just said. Viktor had no such problems, thanked the professor and headed of, leaving Harry behind.

Rosembach frowned at him. "What...you...doing here."

"I, umm, little understand Russian." Harry stuttered. "Speak English you?"

"That vas the vorse Russian I haff ever heard." Rosembach said bluntly, speaking in English for Harry's sake. "You need to work more on your translation charm. I told your friend earlier that it vas good he had come prepared. And that all rooms are on the Eastern Ving. For first years and seconds years it vill be on the first floor. You have an hour to settle in, then you must appear in the Dining Hall, also in the first floor, in the Durmstrang dress robes."

"Thank you, Professor."

Rosembach raised a brow at him. "Professor is not a proper title in this school. You should refer to your instructors as Masters, or Journeymen if they are working for their mastery."

"Yes p-master," Harry said, catching himself from blundering.

The German teacher smiled. "Good, you learn fast. Perhaps there is a hope for you yet, Englishman. Now go."

Harry bowed, before scampering off to find his room. Though there were multiple windows to let sunlight in, the overall atmosphere still seemed rather gloomy. Thankfully, the rooms were alphabetized, and Harry found the room designated for "Potter" between "Osswald" and "Pracht." Each student had their personal room, which was simply a bed, a cabinet, a simple wooden desk with a chair, a full length mirror and a window that had no view. It was not exactly the greatest accommodations. Every ten dorms, there was a shared bathroom.

After settling his things, Harry changed into his red robes, brown slacks, and red cloak with brown fur. Looking himself over in the full length mirror, Harry was beginning to notice that there was a highly militaristic trend in Durmstrang. Even their dress robes were similar to the robe of the aurors, albeit far more formal and regal. With a sigh, Harry proceeded to the Dining Hall and sat with his block mates.

With some interest, Harry observed that the females were free to wear whatever dress robes they wished instead of the stiff paramilitary attire boys had to show up in.

"Sons and Daughters of Durmstrang," Harry shifted his eyes to focus on the speaker, who seemed to be using a charm similar to what Kurkov had used earlier, "I am Highmaster Zelislav Dvorsky, and I welcome you to Durmstrang. For those of you who are new here," his eyes swept over Harry's table briefly, "I congratulate you on being accepted to our most prestigious institution of learning."

"Our school has been built on the twin principles of 'survival to the fittest' and 'magical excellence.' We have weathered any and all who have tried to crush us with out continued practice of these virtues. Over the next few months, you will be tested on the most basic tenets of magic. If you succeed, it will be the first step in your education. If you _fail, _you will be expelled. This is to determine who among you are worthy, and who are _not_. We have no time or tolerance to deal with the incompetent. So if you wish to leave now, you are free to do so."

"The Durmstrang method will seem harsh to many of you, but it is a tried and tested method. We have produced some of the finest witches and wizards in Europe for over several centuries, and we do not plan to stop anytime soon. To all of you, I wish the best of luck in your studies, and I hope that you will continue to bring honor to our school. Hail Durmstrang!" He raised his glass in salute.

As one, the entire populace stood, and raised their glasses. "Hail!"

**Like it? Hate it? Review it?**


	3. Preliminaries

**Chapter 2: Preliminaries**

**Tuesday, September 1, 1988…**

Viktor Krum was not having a good day so far. That was certainly quite a statement to make on your first day of classes, considering classes hadn't even begun yet! It was still true, nonetheless. His fist was swelling up from banging at the wooden door.

Why, you might be asking?

It was simply because his friend, Harry Potter - more affectionately known by his instructors as the "Idiot Englishman" – had slept in...again. He could have easily abandoned his friend and just went up to class by himself, of course, but he would have been a poor excuse for a companion then. Plus, his father had always emphasized the virtue of "_never _leaving a man behind on the field."

Growling, Viktor banged the door with his fists violently for the umpteenth time that morning. "POTTER! VAKE UP!" He swung his fist back to gather momentum then pounded on the door.

As luck would have had it, Potter chose that exact moment to open the door. To complicate issues, he was too groggy to realize what was going on, and Viktor couldn't stop his fist in time. The result was inevitable, leaving Harry sprawling on the floor sporting a bruise on his cheek.

"What the bloody hell was that for, Viktor?" Harry asked, moaning on the floor.

"VE ARE ALMOST LATE!" Viktor shouted angrily.

Harry's eyes widened. "BLOODY HELL!" He cursed. "Sorry Viktor, give me a minute." Harry apologized to his friend, before slamming the door shut.

Seething, Krum glared at the door, as if the intensity of his glare would make things go any faster. It must have worked though, because the door opened to reveal a dressed Harry Potter in record time, sixteen seconds to be exact. "What's our first class?" Harry asked.

"Linguistic Proficiency," Viktor replied curtly, spinning on his heel and stalking forward, "in short, Russian practice time."

Harry silently groaned and sprinted to catch up with his friend. _Linguistic Proficiency Class with Master Ivan Ivanovovitch, Room 224. _He recalled reading. From the corner of his eye, he noticed his friend stopping. "Which vay, which vay…" He heard Viktor muttering.

Without hesitation, he turned sharply to the left, and dragged his Bulgarian comrade along. "This way, it's in Room 224, meaning it's on the second floor east wing. Now hurry up and we might make it in time!" Harry hissed.

"I doubt that." Viktor murmured. "Since when did you become an expert of the castle?"

"We went exploring last night remember?"

Viktor shot a suspicious look at him. "You remember everywhere we explored?"

"I have really good memory retention." Harry replied, shrugging. Before Viktor could ask another question, Harry walked into a classroom. Glancing up, Viktor saw that it was indeed Room 224, and followed his friend in. They might just have made it in time!

"You two, why are you late?" A stern, sharp voice asked them in Russian.

No such luck. They were definitely late.

"I apologize, Master Ivanovovitch. My friend here," Viktor gestured to Harry, who had a completely blank look on his face, "slept in. It will not happen again."

The Russian Instructor smiled at Viktor. "That is a very good grasp of Russian. What is your name?"

"I am Viktor Krum."

"Since when have you been practicing Russian?" He inquired.

"I have been learning since I was six, sir."

Ivanovovitch's smile grew even wider. "It is good to come prepared, Viktor, unlike some of these inept children." The Master glanced distastefully at the students' whose faces were scrunched up in confusion trying to understand the conversation. "Now, all of you pair up and begin speaking to your partner _in Russian_." He emphasized. "By the end of this term, if you have not mastered the language _without charms_, you may suddenly find yourselves out in the snow again." His grin turned positively _feral_.

Viktor turned to Harry, who still had a blank look on his face. "Potter, come on, let's pair up and get this over with."

Harry did not reply except for turning to face to Krum with a confused expression. "What's the matter? Can you not speak Russian?"

Harry's eyes refused to meet Viktor's. "I…using charm…so far…speak. I…not very good." He stuttered out with great difficulty.

Viktor's eyes widened. "How long have you been practicing Russian?" He asked warily, not wanting to find out the answer.

Harry gave him a befuddled look. "I no…understand." Sighing, Viktor repeated himself using simpler words. "I begin…speaking…three weeks."

Viktor was shocked. First was that his friend had been sent to the school _unprepared. _What was more shocking, however, was that his friend could converse, albeit crudely, in Russian already. It had taken Viktor nearly two months before he could reach that point. _He must have been working very hard on it then. _Viktor mused.

Sighing again, Viktor continued to speak with Harry as simply as he could. Remarkably, at the end of the class, there was a visible improvement in Harry's Russian. He began speaking in longer phrases and paused a lot less.

Before they left, Ivanovovitch addressed them. "Well, you seem to be the incompetent block this year with a few exceptions. The other blocks did not have this much difficulty in Russian!" He complained. "I suppose it is only reasonable, seeing what they put together. An Englishman, some French students, a couple of Spanish dunderheads, some Swiss idiots, and a group of Indian morons. If it wasn't for Viktor, I'd say the all of you are hopeless. I doubt more than half of you will pass this class."

That was encouraging.

As soon as they were out of sight, Harry hastily recast the charm over himself. "Viktor…please could you help…me practice Russian later?" Harry asked with his botched up Russian.

"Sure, although, we'd have to do it without the charm." Viktor replied. "You'll never learn with it on."

"Why not? I have…been practicing…with charm all time."

Viktor frowned. "You mean all of your knowledge of Russian comes from your experiences speaking with the charm activated?" It took him three tries before Harry could understand what he was saying.

"Yes."

Viktor's eyes widened. "I must go ask Master Ivanovovitch something." Harry nodded, and watched his friend reenter the class.

"Master Ivanovovitch!"

The Russian smiled at Viktor, his so far newest favorite pupil. "Yes, Viktor?" Viktor explained all that he had recently found out.

"That's odd. Usually, the charm gives you a rudimentary understanding of the language that increases with more use of the charm, but I have never heard of a case where one can actually retain the information without the charm." Ivanovovitch said thoughtfully. "Very well, practice with him while he ahs the charm on, and we will see how quickly he improves."

"Yes, Master Ivanovovitch."

Once Krum was out of earshot, Ivanovovitch muttered to himself. "This Englishman is interesting. Perhaps he will not fail after all."

* * *

**Theoretic Proficiency Class…**

Harry didn't fare much better in this class, with all the lingo being thrown around, he barely understood what was going on. It made him feel a little better when he realized most of his classmates couldn't keep up as well. Even Viktor looked stumped! Unfortunately, they had to share the class with Block 1, which was filled with Germans and Austrians. Master Rosenthal blatantly favored them during the class. That was actually a good thing, as it allowed Block 3 to lay low for the most part.

That was until she decided to randomly call up students from Block 1 to ridicule them.

Doubly unfortunate, the first name she called out was Harry's. She asked him some question or another about theory filled with large words that he couldn't understand. At the end of it all, Harry just stared blankly sat her and replied with a simple "I'm sorry. I am not proficient enough in Russian to answer that."

Her response was to sneer at him. In English, she replied. "You transferred to Durmstrang without knowing Russian, Idiot Englishman? How do you expect to pass in Durmstrang?" She asked scathingly.

"I-"

She interrupted him before he could finish. "You will receive a failing mark from my class everyday until the day _you are_proficient enough. Until you can speak proper Russian, I do not want to hear a sound coming out of those lips."

Some of the students from Block 1 who understood English laughed openly at Harry. As if that wasn't enough, they then proceeded to explain what Rosenthal had just said to their block mates so that they too could join in on the fun at Harry's expense. Harry was silently relieved that his own block mates had not laughed.

Later on, he would realize that they knew somehow they would be targeted next. That and most didn't understand English to begin with. **  
**

* * *

**Practical Proficiency Class…**

"I am Master Andrzej Bujnowski, Instructor of Transfiguration." Bujnowski was a short man, with a height of only four feet and two inches. While a short stature might have made it difficult for most men to command respect, he did so with ease. He had a scowl on his face that said, in no uncertain terms, would he allow any nonsense in his class. There was also a sort of…aura to the man. He projected a very…cool demeanor.

"Today, we will be seeing how ready you are for Durmstrang. On the board are the series of spells you must perform. You have an hour to practice. If you are called but are unable to cast it sufficiently, you will get a failing mark for today's class. Now begin."

Cries of "_Wingardium Leviosa" _filled the room almost immediately. Some were able to do it on their first try. Others took longer. Some took the entire class to master the spell.

Harry grinned when the table he was casting on lifted off from the ground. He glanced at the blackboard and saw that the next spell was a simple transfiguration challenge in the form of changing a needle into a matchstick. Harry tried to remember if he had ever read an incantation for that.

There was none.

He closed his eyes and tried to recall what he had read from the Transfiguration books at home. _Transfiguration is all about intent…Visualize it in your mind...Will it to change…the four steps of Transfiguration…One, know what you want to do, two see what you want to do, intent what you want to do, do it…_

With his eyes still closed, Harry tried to picture the needle becoming a match. A surge of warmth trickled past his right arm, and when he had opened his eyes, he found a metallic match with a slightly sharpened phosphorus head. Frowning, Harry jabbed his wand at it again, holding the picture of a match in his head. The needle/match slowly morphed into wood and lost its sharpness. Harry smirked triumphantly at the match, proud of his success.

Behind him, he heard a sneer, followed by some rapid Russian insults that could have only come from Master Bujnowski. He only understood a few words, but he understood the message clearly enough. "That…best you can do? Pathetic…slow…" Frowning, Harry tried again, this time changing the matchstick into a needle.

Harry sighed. _I'm going to need a lot more practice._

The class continued with barely any conversations, although there was a lot of noise as students shouted out incantations, set things on fire, blasted furniture into walls and generally unleashed all sorts of magical destruction. The hour ended quickly, and Harry had not yet even finished half the list when he was called. Gulping, Harry nervously stepped forward and waited for Bujnowski's instructions.

"Potter, use…blasting…on table…"

Breathing deeply, Harry pointed his wand at a table and muttered the incantation of a blasting hex he had read about. "_Bombarda!_"Harry shouted. A streak of red light shot out of Harry's wand and slammed into the table, leaving a large gaping hole in it.

Any joy Harry might have felt at what he assumed was succeeding was instantly crushed when he heard Bujnowski's next few words. "Potter, you are…idiot…banish not destroy…sit down…"

Depressed, Harry skulked back to his seat with his head lowered. Harry's classmates didn't seem to do much better, with most of them receiving scathing remarks on their shoddy magical abilities. At the end of the class, everyone was visibly distressed.

As they streamed out of the room, they encountered another block just about to enter in the hallway. Harry recognized them as Block 4, the Slavs. They had received that nickname quickly because they were composed entirely of children from Slavic Countries, primarily from Russia, Poland and Serbia. One of them, a girl, sneered at Harry, before turning to Krum. "Why did…join the Castoffs…"

Harry noticed Krum's body stiffen. "You have no…to…"

The girl's eyes narrowed in anger. "It is…why do you…them."

Krum pulled out his wand. The girl made no such motion, although she seemed to smirk victoriously at him. "Look around you, Viktor…no help from…unlike my…outnumbered…" Viktor grudgingly pocketed his wand before storming off. Harry and his block nervously followed after him. Just before they turned the corner, Harry heard the girl shout something in Russian that he finally could understand completely.

"We let you walk away this time, Viktor." Although Harry had only understood snippets of the conversation, he understood the venom and danger laced in those words. He glanced nervously at Viktor's back, genuinely afraid for his friend.

After that incident, it took Viktor the entire lunch break to calm down enough so that you could speak to him without being shown the business end of his wand. Nobody dared to ask him what was going on between him and the girl. In fact, no one dared to spite him after Viktor had generously decided to give one of their fellow block mates, a Spaniard who had little control over his mouth, a one way ticket to Madame Bogdana Polak, the matron of the Healing Ward.

That seemed to ward off Viktor's anger temporarily. Thankfully, they had no classes after lunch.

"Harry, some of the...and I are…run around the…do you want to join us?" Viktor asked in Russian.

They had decided that if Harry would have any hope of passing the Linguistic Proficiency Class, he would have to spend every waking moment immersed in the language. Sure, it took Harry several moments to understand what was going on, but it was all for the best in the end.

"Why you run after lunch?" Harry asked.

"Why are you going to run after lunch?" Viktor corrected. "…we heard that Master Koenig, the Instructor of Physical Studies, is…slave driver. We want…get into shape."

"Oh, I think I pass today. I want finish book." Harry replied crudely, gesturing to _The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes _which lay neglected on the table. "And I send letter to family."

Viktor nodded. "We will meet…courtyard at 2:00 if…change your mind."

* * *

_Robert,_

_It is unbelievably cold here in Durmstrang! It's even colder than Scotland! It is a good thing the castle has internal heating charms or I would have turned into an ice cube last night. Durmstrang is an interesting place. The stories we've heard about it are true. They really do have a mountain, a lake and a forest as art of their grounds. Seeing it from the air was a breathtaking experience. Unfortunately, they made us swear secrecy so I can't tell you where it is. It makes sense though, or I suppose dark lords would be able to raze this place to the ground without all the hushing up they do. This place is so different! The castle is huge, by the way. It looks really Gothic with its black bricks. Seeing it for the first time is a humbling experience._

_I made a new friend here. His name's Viktor Krum and he loves to play Quidditch. He's plays Seeker and he's from Bulgaria. He says he's been training all his life to attend Durmstrang. I have to say I believe him. It's only the first day and all the Masters love him! That's another thing different abut this place, they don't call teachers as professors. Instead they call them "Masters" and they call the Headmaster "Highmaster." Anyway, back to Viktor, don't tell mum this, but I actually got us both late today. Viktor just turned his charm on and managed to get Master Ivanovovitch (it's a mouth full, isn't it) off our backs. Can you believe he already speaks Russian, English, French and Bulgarian? Talk about prepared! It actually makes me feel a bit inadequate._

_The Masters here are rather strict. The way they run things makes it seem more like a boot camp than a school, for Merlin's sake! They also like yelling and insulting us firsties a lot. It makes it a bit hard for me to understand them though, not knowing that much Russian. Half the time I don't even know what they want me to do! It is really frustrating. I swear that Master Rosenthal, our teacher for Theoretic Proficiency, hates me._

_One of our first classes is learning to speak Russian without the aid of Charms. I'm already crossing my fingers that I don't fail or they'll expel me. They're really harsh here, you know. "Survival to the fittest" and all that rot. Anyway, I've got to go. I still have to finish the Sherlock Holmes book._

_Your brother,_  
_Harry_

* * *

_Harry,_

_I miss you! It's awfully dull without you here! I'm bored out of my wits that all I've been doing lately is planning pranks on dad. Mum let's me get away with them since she considers it "payback" for all the pranks dad pulled off during school. And you know dad, he'd never get mad because of a prank. He is trying to get me to settle down a bit though. Mum, dad and Uncle Remmy have been teaching me the basics of magic! And I mean actual magic! They're letting me cast spells and stuff. Today, they taught me how to do a levitation charm!_

_I'm glad that you've made a friend. Just don't forget me okay? Your friend sounds really smart. Is he a book worm like you are? Anyway, you better hurry up with the book, or I might even beat you, and then I'll get to spoil it for you! I'm really jealous that you're there. The castle sounds amazing! Have you gone exploring yet? Do they have any secret passageways? And is it really that cold? Do you need a thicker jacket or something?_

_Your masters sound really mean. Rosenthal sounds like a total git! Do you think I should start begging mum and dad to send me to Beauxbatons instead? I should probably learn a new language anyway. Don't even think about failing! I mean if you fail, what chance do I have of passing? You're like the smartest person I know who is remotely close to my age. Viktor doesn't count, since I haven't met him. Don't worry so much, I'm sure you'll do fine._

_Your brother,_  
_Robert_

* * *

**Friday, October 16, 1988…**

After Harry's humiliating first day, he had quickly deduced that if he did not step up on his Russian, he was going to flunk school sooner rather than later. While he was generally lazy, and couldn't be bothered to learn something that didn't interest him, his goal of visiting the rumored "extensive" library of Durmstrang was quickly becoming at stake. One, the books were in Russian, or so he had been told. Two, only those who had finished Preliminary classes could visit the library. Three, if he got kicked out now, he would never get a chance like this again.

Fueled by his passion, Harry stepped up his efforts to master the Russian language. He took every opportunity to practice, whether with Viktor, his block mates who were equally horrid, upper class students who were annoyed with his terrible Russian, or Masters who despised him for "wasting" their time. He learned quickly to avoid the upperclassmen and Masters though, as these parties seemed to show no restraint with their wands when given suitable stimulus. So filled with vigor was he to learn the language as quickly as possible that he had been called into the offices of various Masters to check if he was, in fact, possessed like many students claimed.

Harry was mocked constantly for his poor Russian, but he brushed those comments aside. He was going to get access to that library if it was the last thing he did! After nearly two months of this, he felt he finally had a sufficient grasp of Russian to become actively involved in Rosenthal's class once more. Serving to increase his confidence, today they were discussing History, which was one of Harry's favorite subjects. Ever since he was young, he loved reading about History, muggle or magical. Being locked up in a house filled with nothing but books pretty much limited his sources of entertainment. And reading about wars, epic duels, bloodthirsty goblins and fierce dragons was always going to beat strange sounding Latin words, silly incantations and overly dramatic wand motions that had no use without a wand. Besides, reading about History always let Harry visualize it, like playing a movie in his head.

"Who can tell me the date the first Goblin Rebellion occurred?" Rosenthal asked.

Harry's hand shot up like a bullet. Rosenthal saw his hand raised and scowled at him, deciding to wait for someone else to answer. When a minute had passed and no one else raised their hand, partly because they didn't know and partly because they wanted to see Harry get chewed out again, Rosenthal begrudgingly called Harry to answer. Which he did. In Russian.

"Master Rosenthal, the first Goblin Rebellion began during 1312 and ended in 1331."

Rosenthal's jaw dropped when she heard him speak. She wasn't the only one. Nearly the entire class stared at him dumbfounded. Viktor had a vaguely amused face as he observed their classmates. Composing herself, Rosenthal asked him another question. "Why did this rebellion occur, and how did it end?"

"It occurred because the goblins wished to gain more lands, and ended when Banth the Bloodthirsty was slain by Dimitri Saralokvia in the Battle of the Burning Plains."

Narrowing her eyes suspiciously, Rosenthal asked another question, this time changing topics. "What is the third limitation of transfiguration?"

It took Harry a moment to think before answering, unlike the History questions where he was able to answer almost as soon as the first few relevant words were spoken. "The third limitation of transfiguration is transfigured objects must revert to their original form once the magic that sustains the transformation disappears."

Rosenthal than did something that completely shocked everyone in the room. She smiled at Harry Potter. "Very good, Mr. Potter. I am glad that you have been able to overcome your difficulty with Russian. You may be seated."

Harry flushed at the praised, and sat down, and watched the terror teacher interrogate another student.

"Viktor,"

"Yes Harry?" His eyes were still locked onto Rosenthal.

"Thank you for practicing Russian with me. It must have been difficult for you to talk with me when I butchered the language."

Viktor broke contact with Rosenthal and turned to look at Harry. Smiling, he replied. "It is no problem. At least now I have someone to speak to in Russian that doesn't annoy me, no?" He said in jest, before returning his attention to their German Master. "We are friends after all."

A feeling of warmth spread in Harry's chest. "Thank you." Harry said softly. If he had heard him, Harry would never know as Viktor showed no reaction to his words.

* * *

**Monday, October 26, 1988…  
****Linguistic Proficiency Class, Durmstrang…**

"Potter," Master Ivanovovitch called out, "stay after for a moment."

Harry bid Viktor goodbye and waited for Block 3 and 1 to filter out of the room. Once he was alone with the Russian Linguistics Expert, Ivanovovitch circled him, eying him curiously as if he were a specimen in a cage. "When you began this class, Potter, I had expected you to fail. You had a poor grasp of Russian then, and had the least amount of practice among all my students. It has been two months since then, and I find myself…intrigued by you."

"Intrigued sir?"

"You have surpassed my expectations, Potter, learning at a rate that I have never heard of before. Mastering a language in two months is quite a feat."

"I had a lot of help sir." Harry answered humbly.

Ivanovovitch smiled. "_Of that_, I am sure. Stories of how you engaged your friend, Viktor, in some of the most butchered up Russian even reached the faculty."

Harry turned beet red, and lowered his gaze. "I admire your zeal to learn." Ivanovovitch admitted. "It is a trait not many possess nowadays."

Harry mumbled out a "Thank you" before returning to silence.

"Viktor tells me you've been practicing Russian with a language charm on."

"Yes, Master."

"You are aware that practicing with a charm does not allow you to truly learn a language?" He prodded.

"Yes, sir."

"And yet, here you are fluent in Russian, although your pronunciation could do with some more _practice_," Harry flinched, "you have a passable grasp on the language. How curious indeed. That is a mystery we will have to uncover."

"Sir?"

"You have my permission to continue practicing Russian in the language charm, as it seems to be accelerating your learning speed. Tell me, do you have any plans to join my Linguistic Studies class next term?"

"Of course sir. I had planned to join all the classes in the Basic tier."

Ivanovovitch nodded approvingly. "That is a wise choice. It is best to learn what you can, and keep your options open. I hope to see you in my Linguistics Studies class _if _you pass Preliminaries." Harry nodded mutely. "You may go."

Harry hesitated to leave, lingering for a while, before speaking up. "Sir, if I may ask, do you believe I will pass Linguistic Proficiency?"

The Russian observed him for a while before replying with a curt "I do."

"Thank you, sir." Harry bowed respectfully and walked out the door.

He was pondering of the sudden change in Master Ivanovovitch's attitude towards him when he passed by an empty classroom. Suddenly and violently though, he felt someone grab him and throw him against the wall. Dazed, he slid down the wall. Before he could recover, he felt two sets of hands lift him up and throw him unceremoniously inside the empty classroom. His bag, half-opened, was sent flying even further away, allowing its contents to spill out onto the floor.

Harry picked himself up from the floor and looked at his assaulters. He recognized them as members of Block 1 – the German Block. "I think we need to have a little chat, Potter." A boy, whom Harry identified as the ringleader of the five-man group, said.

Warily, Harry moved to reach for his wand, only to find it missing from his robes. "Oh, and I'll be holding on to this for a while." The boy said, twirling Harry's wand playfully in his left hand. "You see, Potter, sooner or later, you'll realize that Durmstrang isn't a place for a _half-blood_like you." The boy spat out. He picked up one of Harry's books which was lying near his feet. "What's this? A muggle book? You disgrace Durmstrang with your filth, Potter." He let the book slip out of his hand and fall into the floor before he stomped on it forcibly.

"I'm not the only half-blood in this school. Why am I the only one you're targeting?" Harry demanded angrily.

The boy smiled at him darkly. "You assume much, Potter. It would do you well to learn when to still your tongue, especially when you are not all that handy with your wand. And to answer your question, most of them don't have a chance of passing Russian anyway. Others have been suitably…warned, as well. Among all of them, you seem to be the one poised to actually make it past the Preliminaries and further."

"So, you're afraid I'll do better than you, is that it?" Harry said, baiting him.

The boy scoffed. "Hardly, you are only a half-blood, Potter. That means you're only half a wizard. You can only do half as well me, at best."

"It certainly didn't seem that way in Rosenthal's class. If I recall correctly, and I've been told I have an excellent memory, I've consistently beaten you and your block at History." Harry snipped.

"Those are bold words for someone who doesn't have his wand." The boy retorted, although Harry' remark had clearly angered him. His words did manage to shut up Harry however.

"Just so you know, we can make life very…unpleasant for you over the next few years, and the masters won't do anything about it. For your safety, I suggest you leave now." The boy threw Harry's wand back. Harry managed to catch it before it hit the floor.

"Leave him be, Faust." Harry turned his head so quickly it was surprising his neck didn't snap. He took one glance at his "savior" before a frown returned to grace his features. It was the girl Krum had had an argument with. She stood there, leaning on the doorway, while several of her male companions had their wands drawn. On a closer examination, Harry noticed that she had wavy light brown hair, blue eyes and a petite figure.

"Namenlos, how _nice _to see you again. Potter and I were just having a pleasant little chat." The boy said nonchalantly.

"I know what you consider as pleasant, and it certainly doesn't appeal to me."

"Fine, we were just about to leave anyway." Faust replied, brushing shoulders with the girl. "I don't see why you'd be interested in him."

"I have my reasons." Namenlos stated, waiting for the Germans to leave. "Are you alright, Potter?"

"I'm fine." Harry said.

The girl nodded. "I don't think we've met. The name is Natasha Namenlos."

"We've met." Harry replied. "You were the girl that managed to rile up Viktor."

Natasha frowned. "Viktor has a hard time accepting me. You shouldn't let his opinions cloud your judgment though. I mean both of you no harm."

"You threatened him in front of our peers in the middle of a hallway." Harry pointed out. "I don't think that constitutes as 'meaning no harm.'"

Natasha titled her head idly. "You did not even understand what we were saying that day. How do you know what our conversation was actually about?"

"Then explain yourself." Harry snapped.

"I don't think I will." She said calmly. "It is a private matter between Viktor and me. I'd just like to tell you Potter, don't let Faust and his lackeys dissuade you. Not everyone in Durmstrang is a blood purist. Do not let them frighten you."

"I'm not scared of them." Harry stated quickly. Too quickly.

"Your mouth says one thing, your body says another." She replied. "Look at yourself Potter, your hands are shaking from fright!"

Harry looked at his hands just to see that she was right.

"Listen, Faust is just part of a minority within his own block. A vocal and annoying one, but a minority nonetheless. You need not fear him." She said, turning to leave. "Just some friendly advice though, you're performance in Practical Magic hasn't exactly been stellar. Brush up on your spells, and you might be able to intimidate him enough to leave you alone. If that fails, at least you'd have brushed up on your spells anyhow."

"Wait." Harry called out. "Why are you helping me?"

Without slowing down or stopping, she answered. "Who says I'm not helping myself." It was not what she said that bothered Harry, but rather the tone she used. It was cool and casual enough that you might have thought she was merely commenting on the weather.

It rattled his nerves. He didn't know if he should believe her.

Harry had opted not to mention what had transpired later on when Viktor asked him why he took so long. Letting Viktor know he had spoken to Natasha would only upset him, and _that_ was an episode Harry did not want to repeat. Although the week passed by without incident, Harry was more jumpy, more alert of his surroundings.

* * *

**Tuesday, November 22, 1988…**  
**Potter's Dorm…**

Harry heard someone knock on his door. "Harry, it is Viktor."

"Come in!" Harry called out.

Viktor entered, gazing at the slightly disheveled room, before his eyes landed on his friend. "Your room is a mess."

Harry lowered the book he was reading slightly, taking a look around him room. "It's not exactly up to a House Elf's standard, but it seems alright to me. Now was there something you wanted?"

"I was dropping by to see if you wanted to join me on my jog."

"I'll pass. I'm at a really interesting part of the book." Harry said lamely.

"I have heard that excuse a dozen times already. I don't see why you'd rather read that book than join me on my jog, Harry." Viktor said bluntly. "You must have read it a dozen times by now. That's a bit excessive, don't you think?"

"It's an interesting read." Harry said defensively. "Sherlock Holmes is a timeless classic!"

Viktor shook his head. "You know, Preliminary Classes are going to end next week. Then, we're going to have to deal with Physical Studies, especially if you want to play Quidditch."

Harry shrugged, disimpassioned. "I'll cross the bridge when I get there."

"Putting this of will only make it harder later on."

"I'm sure I'll be fine." Harry said, quickly losing interest in their conversation.

Viktor sighed. He knew a lost cause when he saw one. "Fine, it is your loss. Go back to reading your book."

Harry grunted, but did not reply verbally.

* * *

**Wednesday, November 30, 1988…**  
**Dining Hall, Durmstrang…**

Harry found himself fidgeting nervously on the evening the eleventh month would past. More significantly, it was the evening that signaled the end of the Preliminaries – the night they would find out who had passed been accepted to continue studying in Durmstrang, and who would fail. Such a _momentous_night like this deserved some pomp, and as a result, the students of Durmstrang were in their dress robes.

The sound of the twin, oaken doors banging open broke the solemn silence. In response, the students rose in unison, with their feet spread to shoulder width, chest puffed, heads high, and hands behind them in a very militaristic pose. The Masters, led by the Highmaster, strode pass them regally. Once the procession had settled into their respective places on the head table, Highmaster Dvorsky raised his fist into the air, elbow slightly bent, and in one swift motion, waved his hand to right, palm opening, as if signaling to the students. The students brought their arms to their side and their feet together, standing at attention. The Highmaster then brought his hand down; making sure that his palm was perpendicular to and slightly away from his chest. As one, the students sat.

"Sons and Daughters of Durmstrang, another term has ended. Not only that, but it is also the end of the Preliminaries. Now, you shall be judged." Dvorsky motioned to a member from his staff who stepped forward and obtained a piece of parchment.

And then it began. It started with the oldest students. They mentioned names, achievements and failures by block. They would state who had gotten the highest scores in a certain class, and humiliatingly reveal those who had ranked the lowest. It was a long and tedious reading, and Harry had caught himself falling asleep more than once during the entire thing.

Finally, after half an hour of names that meant nothing to Harry, they had reached the Preliminaries, which was fairly speedy with no accolades or denouncements. They said only the name followed by a simple "pass" or "fail". The first block, the Germans, had all passed. The second block, which was an ethnic composition of Hungarians, Scandinavians and Greeks, had two students fail. The first was a Greek boy called Thelonius Mallidias and the second was a Hungarian girl named Katalin Nyiri.

Numerically speaking, Block 3 would be next. Harry's heart pounded heavily in his chest as he heard them begin with a "DePaul, Jean" who failed; which if anything, only emphasized the general despair of Block 3. Their situation wasn't quite as hopeless as they'd been led to believe though, with a series of five students passing before another failure was announced. Another six names were called in rapid succession that Harry didn't really pay any heed to.

"Krum, Viktor…" Harry perked up at this, and leaned forward. "Pass…"

"Well done, Viktor." Harry congratulated, patting him on the back.

"Thank you." Viktor replied, a stupid grin plastered onto his face now.

The number of names between "Krum" and "Potter" in their block was exactly six. Harry had counted. "Potter, Harry…" Harry held his breathe, crossing his fingers and praying to whatever deity out there that he would make the cut. "Pass…" It took all of his self-control not to jump from his seat or burst out, either action which would probably get him dismissed for disrupting a sacred ceremony. He did, however, allow himself to sport an equally, compared to Krum anyway, stupid looking grin on his face. So elated was he that he couldn't be brought to care that another six of his block mates were failed.

Block 4, much like block 1, had no failures as well. Those who failed were told, in no uncertain terms, that they had to leave by next morning. The Oath they had sworn would prevent any vengeful child from revealing the school's location to its enemies, rendering them harmless towards the school. No doubt they would request to be transferred to Beauxbatons or Hogwarts soon.

For those who remained though, the night was one of celebration. Some of the upperclassmen had organized a party later on, which continued well into the night. The Masters, if they were aware about it, let them be.

There were, after all, no classes tomorrow.

* * *

******AN: Alright I just want to answer some concerns.  
1) While it might seem so initially, Durmstrang is not** **an Uber! School.** **I am just trying to portray it as befits its status as one of the three best schools in all of Europe. Seeing as this is 1980s – 1990s period, that would make it one of the best schools in the world, similar, perhaps to Oxford or Cambridge University present day. This is highly suggested in canon, after all. (I mean being asked to compete in a super old, super dangerous competition should clue you in on that). Furthermore, Durmstrang is not superior to Hogwarts, as you will see in later chapters.**

**2) The policy of requiring students to learn to speak Russian without the charm stems from the limitation it has, which will be discussed further on next chapter. Harry's anomalic reaction to it, if you cannot guess by now, will also be expounded on later.**

**3) The Oath, I would talk more about, but that would require going deeply into some history. Again, it will be discussed in later chapters.**

**Finally, a reviewer asked why Lily and Robert didn't wake Harry up to say goodbye properly. The only answer I can think of is that there is, indeed, a gaping hole in my logic. For now, let's just go along with the lines of "teaching him a lesson" and leave it at that?**

**Okay, now to beg for reviews. More reviews means I know people care if continue or if this is just a complete waste of my time. More people caring = faster updates. Less people caring = slower updates. I won't hold a chapter ransom for more reviews, because that is frankly stupid, but I have to give you a motivation.**

**In simpler terms, more reviews = faster updates.**

**A=B=C, basic logic.**


	4. Christmas Break

**Chapter 3: Christmas Break**

"I do not understand. Why would you go back to England for the Christmas break?" Viktor frowned.

"I promised my brother that I'd go home. Plus, I really miss my family…and the sun." Harry said.

"But you will miss the arrival of the new batch!" Viktor protested.

Harry raised a brow. "New batch of what?"

"The new batch of students, of course." The Bulgarian said matter-of-factly. "There won't be as many students in this batch as ours, but the number is quite respectable."

"Durmstrang accepts students year round?" Harry's face scrunched up in confusion.

"Only before each term starts." Viktor clarified. "This way we can start schooling faster, as opposed to accepting only once a year."

Harry glanced at his watch. "Well, it's a shame I can't chat any longer. I have to go now or else Kurkov might just leave me here." Harry picked up is trunk and waved goodbye to Viktor. "I'll see you in January. Keep in touch."

"I will." Viktor promised with a nod. "Now you'd best hurry! Knowing Kurkov, he'd leave five minutes early just to spite some students!" He called out. The sound of hurried footsteps left a smile of satisfaction on Krum's face.

Just as well that he did though, for when he had arrived at the port after a brief, but painful, cardiovascular test, the ship was just about to leave.

"ON THE SHIP!" Harry visibly winced at the unnecessarily loud order.

"NOW!" Driven by fear of what would happen if he _didn't_follow, Harry scampered up the ramp and onto the ship as fast as he could, forcibly ignoring the searing pain in his chest.

The moment he was safely on board, he felt the ship groan and with a sharp tug, it launched out of the port and into the sea. Unfortunately, this also had the effect of sending Harry, unbalanced as he was, awkwardly landing on his buttocks. Cursing himself for his luck, he picked himself up. Surprisingly, only a few students had opted to go home as well. Scanning the faces of all those aboard, Harry recognized only one.

"Greetings, Harry Potter. I'm glad to see we are meeting under more favorable circumstances." Natasha said.

Harry crossed his arms defensively, ignoring her greeting. "What are you doing here?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "The same as you, I suppose."

He looked at her expectantly, waiting for a reply. She raised a brow at him. "You don't have a monopoly on family, you know."

Harry's face flushed, feeling rather silly. "Congratulations on passing the Preliminaries, by the way."

"It was never in doubt." She replied. "You, on the other hand, surprised quite a few people. Starting off as the worst Russian speaker in our year to becoming proficient in the span of the three months is quite a feat." There was a hint of amazement in her voice.

"I had a lot of help." Harry mumbled meekly.

Natasha smiled mirthfully. "Oh, _believe me, _it's no secret that you kept badgering Masters and upperclassmen with your butchered Russian. Still, your efforts and perseverance are commendable, if suicidal."

Harry's face scrunched up. "Thanks…I guess." He said uncertainly. Despite Viktor's reservations about her, Harry's curiosity got the better of him. "Are you heading out to Bulgaria?" He blurted out.

Natasha looked at him, slightly bewildered by his line of questioning. "I'm going back to Germany actually. Why do you ask if I am going to Bulgaria?"

"It's just that you and Viktor know each other so well. I assumed you would be at least living in the same country. How do you know each other anyway? He has always been vague about your history together."

Wariness took the place of amusement in her eyes and her easy smile faded abruptly. "Our history is a complicated one. You would be better off not concerning yourself too much with these things." The tone of her voice left no room for discussion and it was clear that she did not wish to talk about the topic.

Wisely, Harry did not press her and made a mental note not to bring up the topic again. "What classes have you decided to take next term?" He asked conversationally.

"All of them. All students of Durmstrang are recommended to take up the basic classes before deciding on a particular specialization. Of course, there are some who choose to ignore this in favor of graduating early, but it leaves them distinctly disadvantaged and limited in their future options." She said. "What about you?"

"Master Ivanovovitch recommended the same to me so I believe I will be taking all of them as well. I fail to see why it is important to study another language though."

"It's done mostly for political reasons. Durmstrang caters to most of the purebloods in Eastern Europe. We are recognized as one of the best schools in the world, and, as expected, our graduates tend to be powerful members of society. Often times, their positions require them to deal with people of different nationalities. We cannot possibly teach all the languages there are, so we concern ourselves with those most used – namely English, French, German, Spanish, Italian, Arabic and, of course, Russian."

"But wouldn't a language charm simply be more efficient as opposed to learning a completely new language?" Harry questioned.

"Usually, that would be true. However, language charms have severe limitations. First, the language charm leaves you with a limited vocabulary and remains effective only for short and ridiculously simple conversations. Asking for a name should be easy enough. Looking for directions should be harder, but manageable. Brokering a business deal? Engaging in diplomatic talks? That would be quite hard to achieve.

"Next, it leaves you unable to read in those languages, making written communication next to impossible. Again, for simple cases it shouldn't prove to be a problem, but the more important the matter at hand, the more likely the charm becomes a handicap than an aid. Charms also lose effectiveness as time goes by, requiring it to be recast. In addition, once the charm is taken off, you wouldn't remember how to speak a word. Therefore, attempting to learn a language with the charm on is generally considered to be futile. These problems together make the charm an unreliable method of learning a language and that is why Durmstrang prefers to teach it in the traditional method."

The explanation, if anything, left Harry more puzzled than before. If the limitations of the charm were indeed as great as she had claimed, than how was it that he had managed to learn Russian even with the charm on? It was definitely something to be looked into when Harry returned to Durmstrang next term. Perhaps Master Ivanovovitch could be of some help in that regard.

Harry was brought out of his thoughts by a sudden quake which left him slightly off balance but standing thanks to him holding onto the railing. The same could not have been said for his female companion, who was left on the floor after the violent tremor rocked through the ship.

Harry heard shout Natasha in what he presumed to be German and assumed that she was cursing. "You really should hold on next time the ship anchors." He advised with a slight smirk, extending his hand to help his companion up. Glaring, she took it and they proceeded to go ashore.

Harry's complexion paled when it dawned on him that they would be using portkeys to return home.

"What's the matter Harry? Afraid of a little portkey?" Natasha taunted.

"I hate those things." Harry shuddered. "It's a terrible method of transportation."

"Too bad, because you're going to have to take use two of these to get back to England."

"Don't remind me." Harry said, unsuccessfully trying to suppress his anxiety. "One to get to the_ terminal international de portus_ (International Portkey Terminal) and another to go to wherever else. Why is it we can't just be given direct portkeys instead of having to take several? That's how we got to Durmstrang after all."

"Going to Durmstrang is a special case since its location is a closely guarded secret. Returning from there isn't an issue because they can't trace where we came from, just where we want to go." Natasha explained as she grabbed onto the piece of rope that would somehow magically transport them elsewhere. "Besides, it's not so bad with right technique."

Harry grimly took hold of the rope as well. "There's a proper technique to using-" He was cut off mid-sentence by the unwelcome and very violent tugging sensation that signaled the portkey's activation. Almost instinctively, he grabbed onto the rope for dear life. The world around them began revolving…or maybe it was them? In any matter, they soon found themselves up high in the air and, not a moment later, were plummeting back towards the ground.

THUD!

Harry landed face first into the cool and surprisingly clean marble floors of the terminal, eliciting many strange looks from passersby. "Hello there, Harry. I see you're getting well acquainted with the floor." He stood up eagerly, recognizing the voice.

"Uncle Sirius!" Harry rushed forward with trunk in hand. "Are you here to pick me up?"

Sirius paused with a contemplative look on his face. "Uh, my Russian's a bit rusty Harry. Would you care to repeat that in English?"

Harry smacked himself for forgetting to switch back to English. "Sorry about that Sirius. Are you here to pick me up?"

"Right in one there. Your parents said they're sorry they couldn't make it. Dumbledore sent them on a mission and they haven't returned yet."

"Are they going to be alright?" Harry asked worriedly.

"Your parents are two of the best people I know, Harry. They'll be back before you know it." Sirius reassured him. There was something else that caught his eye though. "Who's your friend there, Harry? Aren't you going to introduce us?" Sirius smiled widely.

Harry looked behind him to see Natasha watching him with a hand on her hip and a smirk on her face. She strode forward in a regal fashion, head high and proud. "Sirius, this is Natasha. Natasha, meet my uncle Sirius." Harry took care to use the appropriate language when addressing each.

"Pleased to meet you, sir." Natasha said, curtseying politely. Sirius nodded back, recognizing that she was greeting him. She turned to face Harry. "I'll see you in January, Potter."

"See you then." Harry replied.

Once she left, Sirius had a ridiculous grin plastered on his face. "What?" Harry asked.

Sirius wiped a fake tear from his eye. "You're growing up so fast. Only your first year and you've already got the girls eating out of your hand." With great exaggeration, he placed a hand on Harry's shoulder and looked him in the eye. "You've done me proud, Harry."

Harry glared at him. "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response." He grabbed onto the portkey Sirius had offered him.

A flash of light later, they were gone.

* * *

**Monday, December 12, 1988…**

"Pssst!" Harry ignored the sound, rolling over to the other side of his bed.

"PSSST!" The sound came again, louder than the last. Harry still refused to stir from his sleep. The sound didn't come again, but was instead replaced by a pair of hands prodding him.

Sighing exasperatedly, Harry opened one eye groggily to find, unsurprisingly, his brother still trying to wake him. "Harry! You're awake!" Robert cried happily.

"Robert, it's three in the morning." Harry said matter-of-factly. "Why would wake me up at this ungodly hour?"

"You promised you'd teach me magic when you got back."

"It's three in the _morning_." Harry placed as much emphasis as he could on the time.

The younger Potter folded his arms in front of him, refusing to acknowledge his point. "So?"

"Robert, we have two weeks together and you chose _three in the morning_ to learn magic?" Harry let out a deep breath. "Did you even get any sleep?" He asked, noticing the large dark circles beneath his eyes.

"Well…not exactly."

"Robert, get some sleep. It won't do you any good to fall asleep while I'm teaching you and you'll learn faster if you're well-rested." Seeing some doubt still etched in his brother's face, Harry continued. "And if Mum finds us out, she'll ground us both. That means no Diagon Alley."

That seemed to drive the point home. Leaving the safety of their house, much less leaving to go to Diagon Alley, was a rare enough occasion for the Potter bothers that the threat of being deprived such overcame Robert's eagerness to learn. Grudgingly, Robert retreated back to his own room. Harry shook his head and lay down again.

There were no more disturbances to his sleep after that, thankfully.

Nonetheless, he soon found himself awake again at 7:00 AM. That very fact was a testament to how well Harry had taken to Durmstrang life. His own biological clock had adjusted itself in the hopes that he would make it to classes on time, which began at eight sharp. It was therefore much to the surprise of his parents when they found that their eldest child had awoken without prompting from either of them.

"Morning mum, morning dad." He took his seat and waited for the house elf to finish cooking.

"Good morning, Harry." Lily watched the house elf flip over a pancake. "You're awfully early today."

Harry shrugged. "You don't really have a choice except wake up early in Durmstrang."

"Speaking of Durmstrang, Harry," James leaned forward, "have you met any friends?"

Harry took a sip of water to moisten his throat. His father looked dead tired, Harry noted. He probably didn't get much sleep either. "Well, there's Viktor Krum. He's from Bulgaria. He helped me get a hang of Russian." Harry paused. "I haven't really had the time to make that many friends. All of us were too busy studying to pass our Preliminaries."

"Sirius says otherwise." James said.

Harry groaned. "What exactly did Padfoot say?"

There was a mischievous glint in his father's eyes. "Oh, I didn't catch much. Just something about a girl he met at the terminal. Blue eyes, brown hair, fair skin…does any of that ring a bell?" Harry's face reddened.

"Oomph!" Lily elbowed her husband.

"James, stop teasing him. He's too young to be getting into that kind of a relationship." She turned to face her eldest son. "Right, Harry?"

Harry nodded his head vigorously. "That would be Natasha. She's from Germany. She's real smart though a tad bit scary at times."

James nodded sagely at the description. "Just like your mother." His comment earned him another jab from the redhead. After breakfast, his parents had to leave. For what, they didn't say. Harry didn't question them, knowing it was probably Order business that they would never tell him about.

With time on his hands, and nothing to do, he decided to read through the copy of the Prophet his Dad left behind.

What he saw chilled him to the core. A picture of a humanoid beast stood in the shadows. Behind it lay the mangled and bloodied corpses of its victims.

_WEREWOLF ATTACK ON THE FLAMELS!_

_Werewolves led by Fenrir Greyback, the notorious criminal and lieutenant of he-who-must-not-be-named, struck the Flamel's residence in Gascony, France late last night. Aurors on the scene report that multiple muggles were killed along with Perenelle Flamel, wife of the famed Alchemist Nicholas Flamel. Multiple werewolves were killed in the attack, a testament to the battle prowess of the Flamels. This attack comes as a tragedy during the Christmas season and we here at the prophet express our most heartfelt condolences to Nicholas Flamel on the untimely loss of life. _

_ The Aurors have determined the cause of the attack to be an attempt by you-know-who to steal the legendary artifact known as the Sorcerer's Stone. The Sorcerer's Stone is universally considered the masterpiece of Nicholas Flamel and the ultimate invention of Alchemy so far. Its powers include turning any material into gold, creating the Elixir of Life, restoring lost limbs and healing nearly any injury. Nicholas Flamel assures us that the Stone has not been stolen and is being moved to an even safer location as we speak. _

_ So far, Fenrir Greyback and his associate shave not yet been caught. The President of France, Warlock Pierre Arave , has expressed his anger over the incident. "There will be repercussions for this attack. Hunting down Fenrir Greyback is the top priority of our DMLE. Rest assured, there will be justice for the Flamels." _

_ Protests have erupted all across France as a result of this heinous act, with some even calling for war with Britain. The Ambassador of France has assured the Prophet that despite the wave of anti-British sentiments, there would be no hostile action taken by the French Government in response. _

_For more on Nicholas Flamel, page 2_

_Everything you need to know about werewolves, page 3_

_Fenrir Greyback, page 4 _

_Anti-Werewolf bill passed by the Wizengamot, page 5_

_Anti-Werewolf Bill passed by the Wizengamot!_

_ Merely hours after the reported attack on the prestigious Flamel family, an emergency meeting was called by Minister Crouch. In it, he called to a vote the recently proposed and highly controversial Werewolf Regulation Bill. He cited this recent attack as clear evidence why the Ministry needed to employ stricter methods of control over the growing werewolf population of Britain. This was in stark contrast to the views of his long time ally and friend, Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore. Albus Dumbledore has always been a vocal proponent of promoting the rights of sentient creatures. _

_ After a series of heated political debates and despite firm opposition by the Chief Warlock, the bill was passed. Lord Malfoy of the Wizengamot stated that "It's time for a change. For too long, we've allowed these dark creatures to roam free, almost independent of Ministry authority. We gave into their demands and gave them their rights. We gave those werewolves a chance to prove us wrong. See what it has cost us? There is a muggle saying, 'give them an inch, and they'll take a mile.' The werewolves have abused our trust for far too long. It's time we start looking out for ourselves." _

Harry put down the paper and wondered fearfully what this would mean for Remus.

He stood up and headed outside to clear his head. He needed some air.

* * *

Robert finally decided to show up after lunch. Harry decided he'd begin by teaching him something simple. "Let's start off with a Levitation Charm. It's considered one of the most basic charms after all." He handed his wand to his brother, who took it with hesitation.

"Won't we get in trouble with the Ministry for this? I mean we're not supposed to use magic outside school."

Harry did something his brother didn't expect. He laughed. "That didn't seem like an issue to you a few hours ago." He pointed out. "With the Ministry so focused on the war, I doubt they'd care what a couple of children were up to casting magic in a magical home. Now, the key to casting any spell successfully is wand movement and vocalization. Intent also helps, I suppose. Take special care when pronouncing the words and doing the motion or you might not be able to get it right. The motion is a swish and flick. The words are _Wingardium Leviosa_."

It took a few hours, but eventually, his brother got a leaf to float - even with the imperfect methodology and instruction he'd been given.

* * *

**Sunday, December 18, 1988…**

"I'm going to Diagon Alley today." Lily Potter announced during breakfast to her two children. "Do you two need anything while I'm there?"

The Potter brothers shared a quick glance. "Mum, can we go with you to Diagon Alley?" Harry started.

"Pleaseeeeeeeeee!" Robert begged, purposely drawing out the word and dropping on both knees.

"Pleaseeeeeeeeee!" Harry joined him, although remained quite content sitting down.

Giving her children a bemused look, Lily replied. "Well, I suppose if you behaved yourselves…"

"Yes!" They cried in unison. Robert jumped up and high-fived Harry.

"But I'm leaving in five minutes." They shoveled down their food and were ready as soon as the words left her mouth. Suffice to say, it was a highly amused Lily that led the two very excited boys to the fireplace so they could floo over to the Leaky Cauldron, and from there, access the Alley. The brothers rushed into the Alley as soon as the wall opened.

"Wow, check this out, Harry! It's the new Comet 360!" If Lily didn't know any better, she'd say that the eyes of her children were permanently glued onto the glass window that separated them from the broom. She let them marvel at it for a few more moments before shaking them from their stupor.

"Harry dear, is there anything you need for school?"

Harry retrieved a piece of parchment from his robes to consult with. "Just a pewter cauldron and a pair of dragon hide gloves."

Robert raised a brow at that. "What about your books?" He asked with genuine curiosity.

"Durmstrang provides the books that we use. It's already part of the tuition." Lily answered. "All we really bought last time were his wand and clothes."

"And Hedwig." Harry added.

"And Hediwg." Lily amended. "Let's head to the Apothecary first. You can pick out your gloves and cauldron while I buy some potion ingredients."

The Apothecary was a shop situated between the Diagon Alley branch of Zonko's Joke Shop and Thatcher's Enchanted Furniture. It was an old building, with creaking floors and wooden shelves. Regardless of its age though, the shop was completely clean and free of foreign substances. It was necessary, after all, to ensure the quality of their ingredients. A middle aged man with a gruff beard was manning the counter when they entered.

"Lily Potter! It's good to see you again!" The man exclaimed, obviously familiar with her.

"Hello, Mr. Mallos. I was wondering if you had any lacewings on hand?"

The man nodded fervently. "Oh yes, I have the finest and freshest lacewings in Britain! They arrived not a fortnight ago. Would you like anything else?"

"Well, I could do with some more bezoars if you have them."

"Bezoars? I'm afraid I'm out of those, Mrs. Potter. You know how it is with the war." Mr. Mallos said grimly. "My suppliers simply can't cope with the demand any more."

"It's fine." Lily said. "Business must be good then if you're fresh out?"

Mallos nodded his head. "Business has been very good indeed. The Potions trade is booming and naturally the demand for ingredients increased with it. Talented Potions Masters are a rare thing in these dark times. More than one of them has taken advantage of the situation to earn some coin."

"Well, just the lacewings then in any case. Oh, and my son here needs a cauldron and some dragon hide gloves for his school." Harry walked up with his items of choice and placed them tentatively on the counter top.

"Ah, yes…it's a shame about Hogwarts refusing to take in anymore students this year. What school does he go to?"

"The Durmstrang Institute of Magic, sir!" Harry replied proudly.

"Durmstrang?" Mallos stroked his beard contemplatively. "A fine school as any in my opinion. Certainly an excellent second choice to Hogwarts."

Lily paid for everything and said her goodbyes to Mr. Mallos. "Do send me an owl once the next shipment of Bezoars arrive, Mr. Mallos."

"You'll be the first to know, Mrs. Potter!" Mallos promised.

As they left the shop, Lily turned to her children. "Well, do you two need anything else?" Seeing the two of them shake their heads, she continued. "How about a scoop of ice cream from Fortescue's before we had back home?"

Her pronouncement had the intended effect - two very happy children.

The rest of Christmas passed by normally.

Well, as normally as it could with a boy named Harry Potter, that is.

**AN: Well, writing this down all in two days was quite a challenge for me! I hope all of you forgive me for only updating now, but I only found time in my schedule to sit down and write. College exams are killer! **

**A note about Harry teaching Robert, yes I know what Harry was teaching is wrong. But, in his flawed 11 year old mind, that's how magic works and his way of thinking will be corrected in Durmstrang. **

**Don't forget to leave a comment below and thanks for reading! **


	5. Return to Durmstrang

**AN: Consider this part 2 of my apologies, dear readers, for leaving all of you hanging the past few months! I hope you'll all forgive me. Now bon appetite!**

**Chapter 4: Return to Durmstrang **

**Friday, January 6, 1989…  
**  
Harry found himself, on this particular January morning, face first into the snow covered ground, with which he seemed to be getting more and more well-acquainted with. In his right hand was a crumpled Durmstrang letter that served as his portkey while his left held onto his trunk as if for dear life, both indications that he had not enjoyed, but rather been fearful of using this particular method to travel.

Groaning, Harry reluctantly pushed himself up before his face could get frostbite. He shook the snow off his heavy winter cloak and was thankful he had remembered to ask his mum to place an extra strong heating charm on it.

He paused, a wave of de-ja-vu washing over him. The scene he found himself in was strangely reminiscent and akin to his first visit to Durmstrang during the previous term. A few notable differences were present though. For one, Harry, having learned his lesson, had opted to wear his winter cloak before leaving for Durmstrang, not after he arrived at his school. For another, Harry remained alone in the forest, no companion appearing, Bulgarian or otherwise, to engage him in a conversation marked by sarcastic remarks, but warm camaraderie.

A momentary tinge of melancholy gripped him, though it was just that - momentary. He dispelled such thoughts and the emotions they invoked to focus on the matter at hand, feeling the morning sun's rays that had landed on his head. Almost instinctually, he headed out towards what he had deduced was the general direction of North, all the while wondering to himself why the freezing temperature had not abated in the slightest despite the presence of the dawning sun. The forest was oddly quiet, no sound that could be heard but the heavy breath and burdened footsteps of Harry Potter, a testament to the amount of effort it took the boy to walk.

In silence and in solitude, he reached the familiar wooden docks where the convoying ship would undoubtedly arrive. A few students milled about impatiently, conversing with one another, presumably, about their Christmas experiences. Others bunched up together frightfully, as if their numbers would deter some invisible predator from attacking. These, he quickly recognized, were some of the new students Viktor had spoken of. They'd be one of the last batches to arrive this term.

Lazily, Harry dropped his trunk and sat on it, giving his tired feet a break. He sighed in relief at the respite from walking. He turned his eyes once again to the new students, albeit in a more critical light than before. Their fear, he realized, had been something he had felt as well when he first arrived. It hit him then, that Natasha was perhaps remarkable in that she had never doubted whether she would be accepted or not. Even Viktor, with all his years of preparation, wasn't that sure of himself.

Another thing he realized was that the two groups generally didn't interact. Older students ignored the younger ones, and the younger ones were too scared to bother the older ones. There was clearly a hierarchy of sorts in place.

Then, the whispering and pointing began. Harry, and all the older students, knew instantly what had caused it without having to look. The Durmstrang ship always caused such reaction among first timers. Harry watched them filter into the ship lazily, choosing to bring up the rear as opposed to struggling with the crowd to go up the narrow ramp.

The moment Harry stepped on board, someone casted a spell to cause the ramp to retract while the others got the ship moving by using controlled wind charms and banishing spells. The crewmen were smart about it too, casting in unison to generate the most force rather than the haphazardly working by themselves.

"Greetings Potter. How was your Christmas?"

Harry exhaled slowly, his breath visibly condensing in the frosty weather. "My Christmas was fine, Natasha, thank you for asking." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the brunette walk up beside him. "How was yours?" He asked politely in return.

She shrugged nonchalantly. "It was satisfactory."

Harry leaned on the railings with his back to the water, before motioning to Master Kurkov with a jerk of head. "His welcoming speech doesn't change much, does it?"

"If it works, why change it?" She replied rhetorically. "Besides, it would get pretty tiring to have to constantly make new welcoming speeches when you are essentially conveying the same point." She said in practiced Russian.

Harry nodded to show he agreed. "That's true. Same effect, less effort." His eyes swept through the ranks of students. Most had varying degrees of confusion etched clearly in their faces. Most of them also seemed to lack suitable winter cloaks to protect them from the frigid climate, if their trembling bodies were anything to go by. Harry frowned. "They seem ill prepared for the weather." He commented with a tinge of compassion lacing his voice.

"They're cast-offs, outsiders. It's expected their parents were unaware of just how cold it can be here."

Harry bristled slightly at her statement, feeling a bit insulted despite the veracity of it. "I am part of our batch's cast-off block, you know." He said in an annoyed tone.

Natasha replied with a curt "I know", but offered no apologies for her words. The two lapped into silence waiting for the ship to dock.

"So…are they going to make us find our own way back to the castle again?" Harry asked as they both watched the ramp being lowered. "Or is that just some kind of initiation process they make students go through during their first time? There is a dock next to the castle after all."

Natasha eyed the freshmen with disinterest as they formed into their blocks. "I'm fairly certain that Kurkov just hates students and makes them find their own way back." She said evenly, as the two of them headed down the ramp. It was only then Harry realized that she did not have her trunk. Or to be more accurate, she did not have to _carry_ her trunk. A brief glance behind them confirmed Harry's suspicions. One of her male companions struggled with the challenge of carrying both his and Natasha's trunk. Harry winced sympathetically as he saw him stumble and take a particularly hard fall into the snow. Despite this, Natasha strode forward with a regal air about her.

Frowning disapprovingly at her snobbish attitude and feeling more than a little pity, Harry stopped to help the boy up. The boy looked genuinely startled when he saw Harry's outstretched hand and gratefully took it. "Are you a wizard or aren't you?" Harry asked the rhetorical question dryly. "Use a Levitation Charm if you can't handle the weight." The boy offered him a sheepish look and did as he was instructed.

Without sparing the boy another glance, Harry quickened his pace to catch up with his highbrow friend. "Why didn't we simply fly towards the castle instead of trudging through the snow?" Harry asked.

"I hate flying." She paused to look at him, perhaps the first time she stopped during the entire walk. "And I don't exactly have a broom handy on me. Why didn't _you_ fly towards the castle?" She redirected his question, raising a brow inquisitively at him.

"It would be rude to leave my company, especially a lady with such excellent _manners_." Harry replied sarcastically.

"It's good to know you have a grasp, no matter how feeble, on how society expects you to act, Potter." She said evenly, purposely ignoring his tone. Her tone left Harry confused as to whether she meant that as a genuine, if twisted, compliment or just a plain, if lighthearted, insult. "Perhaps you aren't as hopeless as I initially thought." She began walking again, her cloak fluttering behind her.

Harry followed, shaking his head at her imperiousness.

They arrived at the iron gates of the Gothic 18th century style castle a little after midday, when the cold abated slightly due to the sun's prominence in the sky. A woman in her late thirties stood by the gate, as one could easily tell with her youthful appearance. She wore velvet, black robes that shimmered in the light and distinctly accentuated her shapely, hourglass figure. A short, crimson scarf wrapped itself around her slim neck neatly, an ever so small gap revealing a patch of pearly white skin underneath. Her hair was held up in a loose bun; stray, auburn locks flowed down near her ears. Matching brown, dragon hide gloves and boots pulled up tightly completed her attire.

Nothing was more striking than her eyes, however, which were of a bright hazel hue and sharp like a hawk. She shifted her gaze to encompass the three new arrivals, and Harry could feel it on his skin, almost threatening to pierce through it if she concentrated any harder. She was easily the most beautiful Mistress in Durmstrang – not that she had much of a competition for that title given her age.

"So this is the famous Mistress Alexis Dragovic that all the upperclassmen talk about." Harry thought, eyeing her appraisingly. "I wonder if she ever considered being a model…" His thoughts trailed off.

"How typical of men, Potter. To have their courage fail when confronted with the prospect of speaking to a beautiful woman." Natasha whispered in a barely audible voice as she brushed past him. She continued to stride forward and greeted the Mistress with a graceful curtsy, keeping it in place just long enough to turn her head a few degrees to the right and send a knowing smirk at Harry – issuing a silent challenge to him.

Not one to be outdone, Harry marched forward with conviction and stopped exactly three paces away. In one sharp movement, he brought his clenched right fist to his left breast, audibly pounding it once to execute the two-count Durmstrang salute. "Mistress Alexis Dragovic, Junior Apprentice Harry Potter reporting, ma'am!" He barked out in a professional military fashion.

Alexis Dragovic's brows shot up at his action, though the faintest traces of a smile appeared. She was both clearly surprised and amused at the formality of the eleven year old boy in front of her. She returned the gesture, albeit less sharply, and returned her arm to her side – a signal that Harry had been given permission to drop his arm as well. "You are both expected to be at the Great Dining Hall for the Durmstrang Opening Feast. I trust there is no need to remind you of where your rooms are or what the dress code is?" The two students shook their heads. "Good, settle down in your rooms and ready yourselves then."

The two of them parted ways at the corridor leading to the East Wing, the dorms of the boys and girls on opposite sides of said wing. It took Harry a short amount of time to locate his room again, recalling that the rooms were arranged alphabetically and his was between Osswald and Pracht. He placed his trunk at the foot of his bed and opened it up to begin unpacking. He began by laying out his dress robes on his bed to prevent it from getting wrinkled. Then, he hanged up his school robes in the cabinet and stuffed his other clothes in with utter disregard. His quills and rolls of parchment were haphazardly thrown on top the wooden table – where his textbooks were neatly stacked up prior to his arrival. The only contents of his trunk afterwards were the books he had brought for his own entertainment. He had learned his lesson from the first term, realizing one book was not enough to keep him occupied the entire term, and rectified this mistake by bringing several dozen. This time around, he made especially sure he wouldn't have to resort to reading the same book multiple times to stave off boredom.

Harry changed into his dress robes, and looked himself over in front of his full length mirror. Sighing to himself and deciding this was as presentable as he could be, he walked out to join the others in the Great Hall.

The Hall was packed to the brim. It was a good thing Viktor had saved him a seat.

"How was your Christmas?" Viktor began conversationally, scooting over to give him some space to sit.

"It was pretty good. I had a great time with my family back home at England. You?"

"It was a blast! We held a Christmas party in the Great Hall that lasted well past midnight. You should have been there Harry." Viktor recalled fondly. "You won't believe the crazy things the older students do when the Masters aren't around." He said in a hushed tone, a gleeful gleam in his eye.

Some of their block mates who heard what he said nodded to reaffirm Viktor's statement. "Oh yeah, these are some of the friends I made during Christmas." The Bulgarian gestured to two boys and a girl. One of the boys looked to be of Spanish descent while the other two seemed to be natives of Italy. "Harry, meet-"

"Diego Ortega, Cesare Argento and Angelina Ferrari." Harry recited from memory, abruptly interrupting his friend's introduction. The Spaniard beamed at him, visibly pleased that someone remembered who he was, despite their limited interaction. Angelina offered a shy smile, though her eyes shone with admiration, impressed at the sharpness of his memory. Cesare had a cordial smile plastered on his face, though seemed impartial, as if it was no surprise that his name was known. His demeanor, suffice to say, showed him to be a born and raised aristocrat.

"The name is Harry Potter." Harry extended his right arm towards them. Diego, being the bubbly chap that he was, shook it as soon as it had been given, then dropped it just as quickly. Angelina hesitantly returned the gesture, her meekness clearly reflected in the uncertainty of her actions. Cesare stared at his hand contemplatively, before taking it with a firm, powerful grip.

Highmaster Dvorsky chose that same moment to begin with his opening speech, one that Harry tuned out for the most part given its redundancy and unoriginality. It wasn't long before he was on his feet returning a half-hearted "Hail" to the Highmaster's toast. Once they were all seated again, Harry chose to take the opportunity of asking his Bulgarian Durmstrang consultant about his cumulative observations on the hierarchy system. "Viktor, could you explain the hierarchy of Durmstrang to me? I mean I know that we should listen to the Masters and senior students, but how do we determine seniority? Is it by age or length of time they've studied here?"

Diego and Angelina leaned forward to listen to the answer, their curiosity piqued by the question. Cesare remained impassive, already knowing the answer himself. "As you know, the Highmaster is the highest ranked member of our school. Next to him are the three Senior Masters that act like his deputies. Then, we have the Masters and the Associate Masters, which are usually considered as auxiliary staff members. That's as far as the hierarchy of teachers go.

"Among the students, there are many different factors that affect one's position in the hierarchy. The rule of thumb is to consider which level of classes they are taking and respective standing in a class, especially since some students get accelerated or demoted depending on their performance. As you know, those taking the preliminaries are at the bottom of the ladder, having no title to their names. A Junior Apprentice, such as you and I, are those in the first two terms of the basic classes. The next three terms after that give you the rank of Apprentice, while the last three terms make you a Senior Apprentice.

"The fourth and fifth year of your stay in Durmstrang is typically when you take up the Intermediate classes, which is when you get to call yourself a Journeyman. Senior Journeyman is awarded to those taking up their advanced classes, again another two years. Once you finish your first mastery, you are eligible to graduate already. However, some choose to stay on, either to finish other masteries or to study directly under one of the masters. These are where the Associate Masters come in. The thing about Associate Masters and Senior Journeymen though, is that they are required to teach some of the intermediate and basic classes respectively as part of their training, which is also the reason why Durmstrang can teach several students without increasing the level of their staff. Teaching a class would mean you have understood the subject you're teaching well enough to further your studies in a particular field.

"Additionally, there exist several positions that can elevate your rank on an honorary basis. An example would be being elected as an Enforcer, the representative of any given batch tasked with keeping order in the school and acting as a mediator for students. Another position available to older students is that of a Crewman, those who man the ships and enact special services to the school. Students who compete and win in competitions outside the school or attain prestigious titles are also considered, depending on how much glory it brings the school. That is to be determined by the Highmaster and Senior Masters jointly."

"That seems rather complicated." Diego piped in, a heavy Castilian accent noticeable in his Russian.

"It is." Viktor admitted. "It took me a week to grasp the intricacies of the hierarchy system."

"Are we expected to remember all of that?" Angelina asked. Her voice was soft and had a melodious quality to it.

"No. It's unofficial, after all." Harry said. "Though keeping it in mind would be helpful, especially when interacting with other students."

Viktor and Cesare nodded sagely, agreeing with those words. "After all, this system will define how every Durmstrang student and graduate will see you."

"It surprises me how meritocratic the entire thing is." Harry said. "Meritocratic means using a policy that advances individuals according to their merit." He explained quickly, seeing the confused looks the word elicited. "I just figured students from political and prestigious families would get higher ranks."

"They're given a tad more consideration, and your family's reputation will certainly help you when you run for Enforcer, but it is not considered as highly though. Most students come from good families anyhow, forcing us to judge by another standard."

"Perhaps if you're done squeezing him for information, you'd be so kind as to let Viktor _actually_ eat his dinner." Cesare remarked dryly.

Harry looked sheepish, and mumbled a quick apology to his friend who waved it off.

"You're from England," Cesare forked a bite-sized piece of chicken and brought it near to his mouth, "aren't you, Potter?" He inserted the piece into his mouth and chewed slowly, savoring the taste of the food.

Harry replied with an "Mmm Hmm" while munching on a baked potato. He swallowed what the mashed up remains of the potato in his mouth and took a sip of water from the golden goblet next to his plate. "My mum's a Charm's Expert that acts as a consultant for the British Ministry," Harry informed them proudly, having only learned that tidbit himself over Christmas, "and my dad's an Auror Lieutenant."

Beside him, Diego spoke up next. "My dad's an Ambassador to Germany. What about you two?" He gestured to the Italians, indicating it was them he addressed the last part to.

Angelina and Cesare, in a remarkable display of synchrony, gave him a pointed look that screamed "Are you serious?"

The Spaniard fidgeted uncomfortably under their scrutinizing gaze. "What?" He asked, wondering why they continued to stare at him disbelievingly.

It was Viktor that put him out of his misery by finally replying to the unanswered question. "The families of Ferrari and Argento are well renowned in Italy for being particularly wealthy. They're old rich; practically aristocrats compared to us mere 'peasants.'" Krum made air quotes with his fingers to emphasize.

Harry and Angelina shared a lighthearted chuckle, while Cesare allowed his mouth to twinge upwards. Diego frowned. "Why didn't they go to the I.R.A.M. then?" Angelina abruptly stopped giggling and tensed up, bowing her head morosely. Cesare's eyes darkened and his dominant hand clenched around his wand, his previously collected demeanor disappearing entirely. Diego looked frightened by Cesare's reaction; raising his hands in surrender and leaning back to show he meant no harm with his comment. Viktor's eyes moved back and forth between the two boys like he was watching a badminton competition, wary of the volatile scenario and hoping not to provoke it by remaining perfectly still.

The Istituto per il Rinascimento e l'avanzamento della Magia, Harry remembered reading once, was the top school in Italy and the premier institute that pushed for advances, breakthrough and innovations in the fields of Potions and Alchemy. It was Harry that broke through the impasse they had unintentionally reached. "It's because they're unwanted and unneeded." Three pairs of startled eyes and a pair of angry ones landed on him.

Harry looked Cesare in the eye, refusing to show fear though he certainly felt it. "It's because they're outcasts…," the Italian pureblood looked murderous, "like the rest of us."

Uttered softly, those five words caused a profound effect on the situation. Several things happened instantaneously as a result. His shoulders dropped, his hand slackened, his eyes moved to stare blankly at the walls and he visibly deflated; his face reverting to back to a mask of controlled emotions, cold and calculating, though a hint of malice remained.

Harry's eyes flickered over to Diego, who was relieved that the situation had defused, directing his rhetoric at him. "Have you forgotten why we are aptly called the Castoffs?" Diego's eyes were downcast; his guilt at causing a temperamental scene that nearly escalated into open violence, no matter how unintentional, recognizable through them. "I can only speculate on why they were placed here, with us. The reasons are for them to share in their own time, if they wish to. As for me, it's rather simple." His tone remained emotionally detached throughout.

Unconsciously, his four companions inched towards the edge of their seat. "I'm an Englishman that was set to go to Hogwarts from the day he was born. I was robbed that choice by the circumstances and was sent here to study. A halfblood heir of a so called 'light,' ancient, pureblood family sent to a school reputed for Dueling and the Dark Arts. A boy that was totally unprepared, practically illiterate and culturally deficient sent to a place that barely wanted him," his pitch rising a note higher. The four eleven year olds hung on to his every word, both enthralled and rendered immobile by his words. "I'm a black sheep in this flock… a loose thread…a cast off." His voice evened out.

Angelina picked up where he trailed off. "My…my reason is…rather obvious." She stuttered out, struggling to find the right words. "I'm a girl born to a…prominent and…traditional family…a family that sees me as nothing more than…than _breeding stock_!" She spat out angrily, surprising everyone with the vehemence in her voice. "I'm a burden to them; to be married off without a say in the 'who' or 'when' of it!" Her fiery tone spoke of repressed rage finally being released. "A girl without a future in the family she was born to;" she ranted bitterly, "a daughter that will only ever be loved conditionally;" her voice became more and more emotionally charged with each word she spoke, "a _tool_ to be used to secure alliances and bridge connections. More of a thing than a person to _them_." She seethed, breathing heavily whilst her eyes closed, mentally counting to ten to calm herself down.

"I mentioned before that my father was an Ambassador. What I failed to say was that my mother was his secretary at the time. My story is not as longwinded as either of yours, and I'm probably as indifferent to it as Harry was with his by now." He sighed heavily, steeling his resolve with the release of breathe. "I'm a bastard born out of wedlock. A halfblood with a father connected just well enough to get him into Durmstrang…but nothing more."

"I have been preparing for Durmstrang for my whole life," Viktor confessed candidly, "and my tale is less tragic than those of yours, in all likelihood. I'm an only son to a Battle Mage, a mother who passed away during childbirth. A boy whose family has a history with Grindelwald…a boy who refused his rightful place in the Slavic Block. I am an outcast not by circumstance, but by choice."

As one, the four turned to look at Cesare, indicating it was his turn to speak, if he wished to. The Italian boy stayed silent, deep in thought. Then, with their attention undividedly on him, he looked up, compelled to respond. "I am the youngest in my family with two brothers and a sister. The eldest was the heir, of course…the pride and joy of my father. Naturally, he was sent to the I.R.A.M. My second brother, the spare, went with him. My sister opted to go to Beauxbatons. Between the three of them, they'd make enough connections in Western Europe to never be in want again. I was deemed…unnecessary. My parents love me, but with an heir and a spare already in place others in the family were less amiable to the idea of my existence. I went to Durmstrang by choice; to show them I could be useful; to prove them wrong; to force the circumstance where I _would_ be necessary."

The five lapsed into a solemn and respectful silence, regarding each other in new light. Seeing a different facet of each other, a deeper, more mature side to their normally childish disposition proved to be an awakening experience for all of them as they realized they were among kindred spirits and similar individuals.

They were among friends.

* * *

**Saturday, January 7, 1989…**  
**Durmstrang, Quidditch Pitch…**

As was typical of Durmstrang, the start of the term was on a Friday.

It was not, however, without due reason. The norm, rather than the exception, for students was to have schedules that required them to study six days a week due to the rigorous hours of application demanded by certain subjects. The result was that most students neither had the luxury nor the time to familiarize themselves with the school grounds. In years past, many a student had gotten horribly lost because of this small, but grievous, gap in their knowledge. To circumvent this, the first weekend of any term were always free of classes, giving students the opportunity to adjust, relax, settle in and explore.

Having explored the halls and grounds of the castle thoroughly during his first term, Harry considered himself safe from the danger of being unable to find a specific room in the vast expanse that was Durmstrang. His friends attribute it to his seemingly prodigious memory and near instantaneous recall rate. If he was frank, he'd have to admit that it did help, but was not the sole reason why he had become an expert at traversing the castle. He had figured out the system by which Durmstrang numbered their rooms.

That is why, on this particular day, that Harry felt confident enough to ignore the Masters' advice and simply visit the Quidditch Pitch where his friends would be playing a casual game. Viktor had organized the entire thing, not surprising given he was the most ardent supporter of the sport among the five. It seemed he managed to scrounge up a sufficient number of like-minded individuals from the pool of students to set up a game with four full teams. Word spread like wildfire among students and the event quickly became the highlight of the afternoon with swarms of students milling around the pitch, chattering incessantly. It annoyed Harry to no end that he had excluded by his friend, howbeit not with deliberate intent. Apparently, these players were rounded up during the Christmas Break and all spots were filled up before Viktor could owl his friend to ask. He had made his displeasure known to Viktor all morning via his preferred method – silence. The cold shoulder was anything but effective. It was only when he had elicited a promise from the Bulgarian to be the first to know when the next match would be set that he dropped the façade.

Harry and Angelina were the only two among the five who would be spectators. "It's an absolutely horrid sport." Angelina commented distastefully, as they watched the players rise into the air. Her lips pursed. "Quidditch, I mean."

Harry gave her a brief bemused sideward glance before returning his eyes to watch the game. "Doesn't your family make brooms for a living?"

"My family doesn't have to make anything for a living. We are rich, Potter, don't forget." She corrected him. "My family makes an art out of crafting only the best brooms in the world. We've pioneered some of the finest specimens in existence, constantly perfecting our method. Care is given _every step_ of the way, from picking out the tree to craft it from to laying down the charms and runic inscriptions to make it fly." She spoke passionately, clearly believing the spiel she sprouted. "We make sure our work is nothing but the finest, unlike those companies like Nimbus. They butcher the art." Her face scrunched up as if she had eaten something foul.

Harry wasn't sure whether to laugh hysterically or to stare disbelievingly. "You do know that those brooms of yours are high end ones. Stuff millionaires buy when they're bored. They aren't actually Quidditch sanctioned brooms."

"Which is a downright shame" Harry thought to himself sadly, before continuing. "And you do know Quidditch is the reason brooms are so popular and lucrative in businesses such as yours. Besides, companies like Nimbus provide a lot of funding for broom development. I'm sure that helps 'perfect' the art of broom making."

The girl remained unconvinced and was about to retort. Thinking fast, Harry interrupted her before she could get any words out. "Think of it this way," he began hurriedly, "at least it's the cheap brooms that get used in the barbaric sport and not the finely crafted ones of your family." That seemed to placate her somewhat and she brightened up visibly.

It was just his luck that a wave of gasps filled the stands, a sure sign something remotely interesting had happened. Surveying the scene hurriedly, Harry was disappointed to know that he had missed it entirely.

"HARRY! WHERE ARE YOU?"

Harry looked to the source of shouting, finding it to have originated from Viktor, who was floating down near the audience. He stood up and waved his arm to get the Seeker's attention, which didn't take long considering it was his job to find things that didn't want to be found, after all. Harry walked up to him, past the jealous glances of sports fans. "What's the matter?"

"One of our beaters doesn't know how to play. He broke the Grace rule and nearly took off someone's head while at it." Harry's expression turned grim. The Grace rule was a peculiar one of Quidditch, applying only to the Beaters. It required them to restrain from directing the bludgers at the opposing team, bar Beaters themselves, for the first fifteen seconds. The reasoning was that it was ridiculously dangerous and unfair.

Before the Grace rule was implemented in standard Quidditch play, Beaters were notorious for causing the most in-game injuries within the first fifteen seconds of play, when the Chasers were all clumped up in the middle fighting for control over the Quaffle and the Seekers and Keepers were relatively close by to provide support. The combination of the high density of players and the volatile Bludgers was a dangerous one, with multiple players being injured at the beginning of the game becoming commonplace. The necessity of the rule finally became apparent to all when, in an international match, all six Chasers were knocked out of play with both Bludgers ricocheting between the players in the initial scramble. Nowadays, modern players used this time to their advantage by taking possession of one, if not both balls of violent, gory death in preparation to either strike after the Grace period, or deflect a strike by the opposing team.

"And you need me to sub?" Viktor nodded. "I was raised a Chaser, Viktor." Harry said pointedly, informing him of his preferred position of play. "I could probably make a somewhat decent Keeper, but I will always be at my best when I'm a Chaser." Harry said. "I'm not built to be a Beater. My arms are scrawny and I have no muscles." Harry said self-effacingly, raising both arms floppily to emphasize.

"There's no one else who knows the rules of playing Beater other than you." Krum argued. "You're proficient enough in Quidditch to play a somewhat decent Beater. This is a friendly game after all. Besides, the skill set of Beaters and Chasers are almost the same. They both need speed, maneuverability, control, teamwork and precision. In fact, the only difference I can see is that Chasers need a lot more fancy air work and Beaters need more…viciousness? Anger?" Viktor tried the words, trying to determine which one was the right one. "In any case, you'd be good enough for the spot, I reckon." He threw two sticks at him, one long and lean, the other short and burly.

Harry deftly caught one with each hand, though remained unsure. "Besides, you know how these things go Harry. Positions in Quidditch are rarely static or limited." That was true, Harry knew. Much like the muggle sport of Football, Quidditch offered its players greater diversity and flexibility. "You could always, say…knock the Quaffle into the hoops, accidentally, of course." The two boys shared a conspiring grin.

He sighed theatrically, mounting the German made broom. He affectionately traced the segment of polished wood that had been inscribed with the name using his index finger, a _Blitzkrieg_ model. "If I must, Viktor…the show must go on after all." The two took off to the cheers of the audience, realizing that the game would be proceeding as planned and that their time had not been wasted.

Once he had gained adequate altitude and distance from the stands, Harry leaned forward and placed some pressure on the handle. His motion caused the broom to accelerate. He continued pressuring it until he had reached what he ascertained to be the broom's maximum speed, then tilted it to the right, making a full revolution around the Pitch while swinging the bat in his right hand experimentally. Once he was satisfied, he moved to his place beside his fellow beater. Breathing in the cool, fresh air, Harry gave Viktor a thumbs up, signaling he was ready.

The sharp screeching of a whistle pierced the air and a chaotic jumble of players polluted the center of the Pitch. Harry squinted, his distance hampering his efforts to determine who had possession of the Quaffle. It was then he realized his fellow Beater was no longer beside him, having made a go for one of the Bludgers and was now engaged in a losing aerial battle with the two enemy Beaters. While cursing himself for the momentary lapse in attention, Harry pushed his broom forward towards the neglected second Bludger while keeping an eye on the developing series of complex aerial maneuvers occurring simultaneously around him. He swung the bat back and tightened his grip around it in preparation for a swing.

CRACK!

He watched with gleeful fascination as the magically hardened hickory wood connected with the overtly violent ball, sending it flying into the air. Its tendency to propel itself towards players only enhanced its speed. Harry smirked as he assumed he had hit his mark right on target and had to suppress a disappointed groan when the victim of his attack barely managed to swerve out of the way. He consoled himself with the thought that it had at the very least skimmed the broom, causing no small amount of discomfort for its rider. His fellow teammate sent him a thankful nod for the timely support, before returning his full attention to the still ongoing battle.

"ORTEGA SCORES! SCORE IS TEN-NIL FAVORING TEAM KRUM!" Harry heard the commentator's _Sonorus _enhanced voice. Harry shook his head at his friend's audacity in choosing a name.

From the corner of his eye, a bullet fast purple ball approached. Harry swung, almost instinctively, to redirect it elsewhere. Taking scope of the field, Harry slammed the purple ball away from him and towards the direction of the Keeper who retrieved the Quaffle, hovering a few feet from the goalpost.

What happened next was nothing short of pure, dumb luck. It was so lucky that Harry checked his memory to see if he had drank any Felix Felicis recently. The Bludger slammed straight into the Quaffle, intercepting it mid-air mere moments after the Keeper had attempted to pass it, and drove it straight into the goalpost for the second time in the space of a few seconds!

Suffice to say, the crowd roared in approval!

"POTTER SCORES WITH WHAT MUST BE THE MOST AGGRESSIVE BEATER MOVE I'VE EVER SEEN! TWENTY-NIL!"

Durmstrang students would forever reminisce on the day when Harry Potter both accepted and invented the pseudo position of Forward Offensive Beater. With his unique approach to playing Beater, the game quickly evolved into a form rarely seen. He acted essentially as a Fourth Chaser, making the fight for the Quaffle very one sided after a few minutes, while never slacking from his duties of controlling the Bludgers. Initially, the other team attempted to take him out of play by sending both Bludgers at him. Unfortunately for them, they failed to remember the presence of the second Beater on Krum's team, who performed spectacularly by defending Harry from his blind spots. With a near unlimited number of opportunities to indirectly score with the Bludger, our favorite Quidditch player went on to score another three goals before he opposing team shifted tactics.

Next, they instead chose to ignore him completely in favor of sending Bludgers at the Chasers. This was doubly unfortunate, for without any pressure on him, Harry, with his partner assisting, easily controlled the Bludgers throughout the game and abused this advantage. Chaser formations were broken up, the Keeper was rendered traumatized and the Seeker constantly frustrated in his attempts to end the humiliation by catching the Snitch.

It ended with Krum catching the Snitch, leaving the score 270-30. Everyone present gained a healthy, newfound respect for the Englishman they'd formerly ostracized.

By the end of it, many people felt sorry for both Keepers. One had been pummeled relentlessly for a good thirty minutes while the other had just sat there hovering, barely involved at all. Conversations broke out after the game to discuss the viability of Harry's unorthodox play in regular play and fierce debates broke out about how best to utilize such a player.

There was one point everyone agreed on though. Harry Potter was one bloody fantastic Beater-Chaser.

**AN: **

**1. The idea of a Beater Harry always appealed to me, especially since in the first movie, Wood remarked "Nice shot, Potter. You'd make a good Beater."**

**2. This chapter came off as a bit more angsty then I intended, sadly. I hope it didn't tick any off you too much, but I felt it necessary to get things out of the way. The surprising number of new OCs startled me too and I hadn't planned to add so many. Rest assured, they won't in even greater numbers and I will keep this story Harry-centric. He is the Magnate, after all.**

**3. This might be my last update in a while. I have to take a break from writing seeing as I've done nothing but in the past 4 days. Rest assured though, I'll have another Chapter ready at the latest by the second week of January. Prodigy's Reign might take a while longer. Making a Difference should be posted by the New Year, though! **

**4-100. Share your thoughts in the magic box below and hit Review! Tell me what you think, good or bad and I'll address them all next chapter in the AN if not in the story itself. **

**Finite. **


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